


A few moments, a few histories

by Lady_Lola



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, FebuWhump2021, Ficlets, M/M, Multi, One Shot Collection, Post-Movie, Pre-Movie, Slice of Life, some are AUs, some are canon compliant, vague mention of history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 26,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28874598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Lola/pseuds/Lady_Lola
Summary: This is a collections of small ficlets and stories I've written to fill prompts I've found or I've been sent on Tumblr.Some will be canon compliant, set either before or after the movie, but still in the same universe; others will be AUs, but I'll try to stick as much as possible to the characters and their personalities.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 43
Kudos: 67





	1. The Book

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind that English is not my first language (I'm Italian just like Nicky/Luca, despite not from Genoa), so if you find some mistakes/inconsistencies, please point them out in the comments and I will try to correct them asap!  
> Enjoy :)

**“Send me a ship and a prompt word and I’ll write a 3-sentence fic”**

_**Joenicky and the word book! 🎇** _

Yusuf had noticed Nicolò disappearing for hours a few days after getting to the coastal village they were staying at, and he didn’t like it.

He didn’t trust the invader, the infidel, and only travelled with him because of the condition they shared. So, he decided that the best course of action was following the Zeneise to make sure he wasn’t conjuring some sort of wicked plan against him or his brothers who were still fighting against the Crusaders. 

Of all the things he had thought of witnessing, nothing could have prepared him for what he was seeing from a window: Nicolò was sitting at a table, hunching over a book, the younger son of the fisherman they sometimes worked for (Amir, his mind supplied) teaching him the sounds and the cadence of the Arabic dialect the villagers spoke… Not quite the one Yusuf had grown up speaking, but similar nonetheless.

He suddenly remembered all the times in the last few month in which his companion had tried to ask him to teach him his language, and all the times Yusuf had cut him off rudely, so he quickly disappeared in the back garden, and returned to their lodgings. 

When Nicolò came home a few hours later and, after leaving his travel bag near the bed, went outside to the well to fetch some water for the washbasin, Yusuf reached into it and retrieved the book Nicolò had been reading in the afternoon. It was a battered, worn out copy of the Quran, not dissimilar from the copy he too possessed. He looked at it for some moments, almost mesmerized, until the noise of heavy steps and sloshing water got him out of his reverie. He put the book back into Nicolò’s bag.

When he woke up the next morning and heard Nicolò greet him with his battered Arabic and an uncertain smile, for the first time he returned the greeting, and offered to help him.


	2. An anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The anniversary of something + “Tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet can be considered a follow-up of my previous story "The Mistake", which can be found here on Ao3.  
> While reading it is not necessary to understand what happens in this chapter, it may give you some insight.

They kept their plan secret.

It’s not like they had to, since they both knew that Andy and Nile would have been absolutely on board. They kept the secret because they weren’t sure they were able to go all the way with their plan, so they allowed themselves to have a way out, had it all become too heavy to bear.

One afternoon, while Joe was teaching Nile the best stances to defend herself from a shamshir attack (both Nicky and him had already taught her how to ward off from two-hand swords and saifs attacks), Nicky slipped in her room, retrieved her phone, and sent off a brief text.

The answer arrived almost immediately; he replied once more, then deleted the conversation from the phone.

The next day, they announced they were going to make a quick their trip to clean up and refurnish the safehouses they had in central Europe, and that they were going to come back in a week.

They grabbed the documents for a couple different aliases, packed lightly, and set off.

They arrived in Prague late in the afternoon the following day, with a comfortable margin of time on their schedule, and rented a room in a cozy pension in Malá Strana; they settled for the night, and waved off the day hoping that the next morning all would go well.

9am saw them sitting in the corner of a small, secluded room of a cafè, waiting. They had two cups of tea and two small plates with biscuits in front of them, but the tea was still brewing and the biscuits still untouched; there was also a third, empty cup on the round table.

Minutes passed too slowly and yet too fast.

“Tell me what you’re thinking right now” Nicky asked, as his steadfast look was trying to burn a whole in the newspaper Joe was pretending to read to hide his nerves.

“I’m thinking he’s almost 20 minutes late. I’m thinking he’s late because he’s lying in a gutter somewhere and he’s too drunk to get up. I’m thinking he’s too drunk to get up because he can’t be bothered to live anymore…” Joe gripped the paper tightly, then threw the newspaper aside and let Nicky finally see the unshed tears in his eyes.

Silently, Nicky reached out to his husband, who took his hand in a squeeze that anyone would have considered desperate and painful, but into which both men poured all their emotions.

The Genoese closed his eyes for a second in a silent prayer, then opened them as he perceived the movement at the entrance of the private room they were in. Joe was quick to turn towards the door, too.

Booker was standing there, his face slacked in obvious surprise as he saw them, and not Nile, waiting for him. He gripped the strap of his bag, squared his shoulders, and walked to their table.

As to delay the conversation, they all busied themselves with something.

Booker hung the bag on the back of his chair, took the sunglasses off and finally sat down; Nicky poured the tea silently, and Joe folded the paper and pushed one of the plates with the sweets towards the blond man.

When the silence had stretched almost painfully, Booker decided it was time to face the music.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you guys, but you’re not who I was expecting to find here” he said carefully.

“We know” Nicky replied, but didn’t offer any opening.

“Don’t get mad at Nile, please” Sebastien added in an almost pleading tone. “She… We never talk about what the group is doing, she’s not endangering you, she just… she worries for me. Too much, I would say”.

“We’re not mad at her. We knew either she or Andy would have stayed in contact with you. It’s fine- it’s good, actually”, Joe replied softly, and Nicky hummed in agreement.

Booker sighed in relief. His mistakes and the following punishment were his and his alone; he hadn’t wanted to put Nile in a difficult position, but when she had insisted that she wanted to stay in touch with him, he had been too alone and too desperate to refuse.

“You look fine” Nicky declared. “When we noticed you were late, we…”

“Though I was somewhere, lying on the floor, half dead from alcohol poisoning” Booker concluded. “Don’t make that guilty face, Joe, it’s not like it hasn’t happened before” he added with some sort of self-deprecating humour.

“The thing is, I don’t drink anymore. I… have been talking to some helplines recently, gone to a few meetings. I finally realised that I couldn’t hope to get back to the family if I continued down the same path I was following before that... _thing_ happened.”

Sebastien didn’t need to name the event he was referring to, it was too clear in their minds.

Joe and Nicky focused on each other, holding a hours-long conversation in just one look.

Nicky broke the silence as he said “It’s three years today since we last saw you in London. We want you to know we forgive you. You are family, and if it’s ok with you, we would like to take you home with us”.

Booker was astonished. He had known, deep down, that his banishment wouldn’t have lasted a whole century, but he had still expected to be called back only for some particularly gruesome mission, or for Andy’s last months on Earth.

His shock must have been written all over his face, because Joe placed a hand on his cheek and leaned closer to put his forehead against his.

“You are our brother, as we are yours. We've all suffered too much. Let us help you, since we didn’t before. We love you” Joe murmured, and Booker let himself bask in the warmth of their absolution for a moment before nodding.


	3. A coffee and a realisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roommates au + “A cup of coffee would be nice”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned in the first chapter, some ficlets will be AUs. This is one of them :)

Nicolò was bent on his desk, correcting yet another draft for a romantic novel that the agency he worked for had deemed “revolutionary”, “groundbreaking”, and “something never published before”, but he found predictable and filled up with over-used tropes.

How many times did he have to read about teenagers who were friends since their childhood, grew up together in an almost brotherly bond, but then reached puberty, casually touched each other, and went “ _Oh!_ ”, and they were in love?

He didn’t have that much experience in love, but he was sure love didn’t work that way. Love, in his mind, was something that had to be cultivated day by day, and that made itself known, and most of all that couldn’t be confused with anything else.

He put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly very tired.

He left his spot, and went to the small adjoint kitchen to switch up the espresso machine; he was waiting for the machine to heat up, when the front door slammed open and Joe barged in.

“You can’t believe how cold the weather is today! I feel I have frostbite everywhere!” Joe exclaimed in exaggerated outrage, which caused Nicky to laugh out loud.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Nicky! Your Italian body may have lost its _calore_ , but I’m still a hot-blooded, Mediterranean man, and this chill is throwing me off. I bet I have icicles on my beard!”

“Your beard is perfectly defrosted, Joe, I swear. Anyway, I was about to make myself a nice cup of coffee, do you want one too?” Nicky asked, turning slightly to face him with two mugs in his hands.

He froze for a second as soon as he looked at his best friend: Joe had probably rushed up the stairs to escape from the cold, because his caramel skin had a rosy tone on the cheeks, and Nicky caught himself thinking that colour really complemented Joe’s beauty.

“A cup of coffee would be nice! Thank you, Nicky” Joe replied with gratitude, unaware of the Italian’s astonishment.

Nicky turned back to the machine, busying himself with the coffee and trying to erase his unexpected thoughts about his best friend.

He was aware of Joe disrobing his coat and scarf, then joining him in the kitchen to sit on a stool at the counter.

The coffee was ready, so Nicky grabbed the cups, fixed them with sugar and milk, and handed Joe his.

When Joe reached for the mug, his elegant, warm fingers brushed against the his friend’s, and Nicky felt like a lightening going through his whole body.

“ _Oh!”_ his mind provided.

Good Lord, those damn novels were right.


	4. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romance prompt n. 15  
> "I feel safe with you. I always have."

**"I feel safe with you. I always have"**

It was a couple of months after the Merrick debacle had happened, that Nile asked them why they had started travelling together after their first death. 

“It sounds crazy, you know? You said you killed each other many times, and then one day you come back from another death and decide you’re BFFs? Totally cray-cray”, she said in her usual, no-bullshit tone.

Nicky just shrugged, and kept polishing his sword, knowing that Joe would have jumped in the conversation and explained their reasoning better than him.

“Staying in Jerusalem, going back to our own armies would have been too risky. Many of our bothers in arms had already seen us hit each other with blow that should have been fatal, and then come back unhurt. 

Rumors were spreading... The other soldiers kept their distance from me, they stopped talking when I sat with them around the fires at night. And Nicky... well, his people made the sign of the Cross when they saw him, and in one particular instance they sent a priest into his tent to perform an exorcism” Joe joked, but Nile could see that his eyes didn’t carry the usual levity and mirth as he spoke. 

“I woke up in the middle of the night and found that man hovering over my bed, yes. I almost killed that _poveretto_ ” Nicky added, smirking a bit.

“Yeah, yeah. So, when we were on the battlefield, we tried to avoid each other, because we thought that this non-dying spell could only work if we killed each other, but it soon turned out that any death didn’t stick. It didn’t matter who killed us, we just kept coming back.

When Jerusalem fell and the Crusaders entered the city, we were already tired to the bones of war, blood, death. Seeing what happened after the city fell, the slaughters...” Joe’s voice broke for a second before he continued, “it was too much. I just grabbed few things, a bit of food and water, and left without looking back.”

“Wait, you’re telling me you didn’t leave together?” Nile asked, incredous.

“We didn’t, in fact” Nicky answered. His voice was collected as usual, but his face showed sadness and remorse for the actions of those he had once considered his comrades. “After witnessing the true depth of my companions’ hatred and greed, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. I tried to stop few of them, but they killed me easily, and we I woke, I realised that there was nothing I could have done to stop them, and ran.”

“So how did you end up together?” she enquired, totally engrossed in their story.

“As my Nicky would say, Fate decided for us. Without knowing, we had both left through the same gate, and gone in the same direction. A couple of days after leaving Jerusalem, as I was going over a small hill, I heard some noise. When I reached the summit and looked over it, I saw a bunch of Crusaders fighting one of their own. In my soul I knew he was the man that shared my condition. 

I tried to get to him as fast as I could, but he was already dead by the time I arrived. I stood there and waited for him to come back. The soldiers had robbed him of all his rations, and I felt I couldn’t just leave him there to die of thirst and hunger in the desert. So I waited for him to regain consciousness, and then I offered to take him to the nearest oasis to clean up and rest. After that, we simply didn’t part anymore.”

Nile was impressed with the faith and the trust the two immortal lovers had had in each other since the very beginning, and had no problems in voicing her feeling. She turned to Nicky, and saw that he had stopped fixing his blade and was looking at Joe lovingly.

“I know it sounds strange, since all the times we had met previously we had killed each other, but when I woke up and saw him crouching next to me, offering me his waterskin, I instinctively knew I could trust him.” Nicky replied, leaning a bit to place his hand on top of Joe’s and linking their fingers.

He looked at Joe’s blinding smile, and added **“I feel safe with you. I always have".**


	5. Mind Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile has a question constantly on her mind. Joe provides an honest answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my ficlet for Febuwhump day 1; I won’t be able to fill all the prompts/days, but I’ll try to write as much as possible!  
> The prompt is “Mind control”, my ficlet is a slight twist to it; it can also be considered a sequel to chapter 4, "Safe".  
> Enjoy!

After 10 months of travelling with her new “family”, Nile was ready to admit she loved her new life.

Of course, she missed her real family and her few friends in the Army like crazy, but thankfully Copley was very precise and thorough in keeping her informed about them.

Moreover, her days were so filled up with new skills to acquire, languages to master, and Andy to worry about, that she really didn’t have the time to think about anything else, seriously.

The part of her new routine she loved the most was learning to fight with different weapons, and sparring with the others. 

Andy was relentless and vicious, but never cruel in her attacks; Nicky was very focused, precise, sparring with him felt like perfoming a ballet: functional and elegant, but somehow quite detached.

Nicky was a great man, caring and nurturing, but while his pensive behaviour could have inspired other people to talk to him and ask him things, Nile felt better talking with people who loved debates. 

That’s why she felt that sparring and talking with Joe was the best thing in her days. Sparring with Joe was like dancing with friends during sleepovers, when she didn’t have to know the moves perfectly, the only thing that mattered was having fun (well, if you considered swordfights fun, and she did).

What she loved the most about sparring with Joe was the fact that, after their lesson, they would sit on a bench or under a tree in the garden, and they would talk.

They were living in Switzerland, somewhere in a valley at the foot of the Alps, and they were enjoying the traquillity and isolation of their chalet. 

Joe and Nile were finishing sparring, while Andy was taking a hike on her own and Nicky was inside, checking the pantry and listing all the items they had to buy next time they went into town.

As usual, as soon as they put their saifs down, Joe grabbed two multivitamin drinks and gestured Nile to sit with him on the wooden log Booker had carved and shaped like a bench when they had purchased the chalet as a reprieve from the horrors of WW2.

They were sittng and regaining their breaths, when Nile spoke. 

“I would like to ask you something, but I don’t know how to ask you without bringing back bad memories or stuff like that” she started, fidgeting with the bottle in her hands.

“Well, I guess you can’t know unless you ask me what you need to know, and at that point you will have asked already. Just shoot, but be aware that I could refuse to answer” he replied with a calm smile.

“It’s about what Nicky was doing when you first met” she anticipated. 

Joe tensed a bit, but said nothing to stop her, so she went on.

“Well, based on what you told me about the begining of your history together, you were pretty quick in forgiving a man that had crossed the sea to invade your country and kill you and your people. I don’t get how you could do it” she concluded, her voice getting lower word by word, until it was barely a whisper.

Joe remained silent for so long, Nile thought she had messed up and offended him, and was about to backpedal when he spoke.

“You think that since I love Nicky, I must be biased. While it’s true that I love Nicky more than anything, I’m not blind to his mistakes. I never was.

What I need you to understand Nile, and believe me when I say I know it’s not easy for you, considering the “Woke” culture you grew up in, is that our was a very difficult time. You cannot judge Nicky’s actions through your modern standards”.

Joe turned his gaze to the mountains, as he took a fortifying breath before continuing.

“Nicolò did not have a good life, Nile. He was an orphan, and abandoned at a monastery. He grew up there, spending all his life hearing that the Cristian God was the only rightful God, and Cristianity the only rightful religion. 

His mind was costantly under control. He was beaten daily into becoming a disciplined, meek boy, forced to starve to repent of sins he never committed, with only books about Hell and punishment and God destroying Sodom and Gomorrah to learn to read on.

By the time he was a man, his hatred for who he was, who he _is_ , was so ingrained in him, that as soon as the Pope claimed that all those pious men who joined the War to free the Holy Land from infidels would have been saved from all their sins and would have gone to Heaven, he couldn’t see anything but a miracle in that.

The soldiers took him, transformed his shyness and shame into rage towards the enemy with violence and pain, and then forced him onto a ship towards a death he had come to consider as salvation.

I’m not saying his blows didn’t hurt me, nor that dying on his sword was painless... I’m not even saying that forgiving him was easy” Joe’s voice broke in a small sob then, and Nile could see his eyes were misty and sad, “I’m just saying that I couldn’t keep considering him at fault after he told me about his life, after seeing how sorry he was of his nefarious actions, and after witnessing all the times he died to protect me, as if his death was a way of apologizing over and over again.”

Nile turned his face away to allow him to regain a bit of composture, and looked at the chalet.

She saw Nicky through the kitchen window, cooking for his family, and thought about all the small acts of love the man did every day for them, like going through many cookbooks to find new recipes that could accomodate Joe’s dietary restriction (despite Joe insisting it wasn’t necessary), or buying Andy’s favorite softener despite hating the smell of white musk, or spending hours watching Youtube videos to learn how to help Nile do her hair.

She couldn’t help but smile when he saw her and waved at her, and she realised that Joe was right: thinking about Nicky not as the loving man he was, but as a cruel invader, was simply downright wrong.


	6. I can't take it anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the pain is so much to bear, he just can't stand it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s my fill for Febuwhump day 2, I hope you’ll like it!  
> The prompt is: "I can't take it anymore"  
> As usual, I accept any form of criticism, but please remember nor English of French are my first language :)

It was a gloomy, wet and cold November evening in Marseille, and the man staggered out of the Hopital Saint-Pierre just to collapse on a bench few meters away from the door.

He pushed a wide, strong hand inside the breast pocket of his jacket and retrieved a metal flask, that he uncapped and that he took a big gulp from before putting it away again.

He then folded on himself, putting his forearms flat on his thighs and hiding his face in his hands. Hands that had carried the precision and steadiness of a forger, the savagery and defeat of a soldier, the love and caring of a husband and father. 

Hands that now only knew the tears of a wrecked man who had lost his wife and two of his children, and was about to lose his third, too.

He was so caught up in his desperation he didn’t even hear or realise the arrival of the second man, who looked at him for a few seconds before sitting next to him.

He flinched a bit when he heard the other speak.

“Bonsoir Sébastien, mon frere”, the man greeted him _(Good evening Sébastien, my brother)_

“Il n’ya rien de bon ce soir, Nicholas” Sébastien replied, his words muffled by the fact that he was still covering his face to prevent the other seeing his tears, in a useless gesture of modesty. _(There is nothing good this evening)_

“Je dois supposer que les nouvelles concernant Jean Pierre ont de nouveau empiré, non?” Nicholas asked softly. _(I suppose the news about Jean Pierre worsened again, didn’t they?)_

“Il n'y a plus rien à faire, la maladie le consume de minute en minute... Il souffre beaucoup, quel que soit le sédatif qu'ils lui donnent est inutile“ Sébastien replied, suddently getting up from the bench and turning his head up to let the rain wash away his tears. _(There’s nothing more to be done, the illness is consuming him minute after minute. He suffers so much, any sedative they give him is useless)_

Nicholas got up, too, and stood in front of him; he put his hands on Sebastién’s shoulders, and slowly but steadily guided him into an embrace.

Sébastien stiffened for a second, for the two were not in great confidence and he didn’t know how to react, but then the warmth of Nicholas’ hug and the tiredness in his own bones won, and he almost sagged in his arms.

“Je n'en peux plus, je ne peux pas enterrer mon dernier fils, mon cher Pierre” he sobbed, feeling so desperate and so worn out. _(I can’t take it anymore, I can’t bury my last son, my sweet Pierre)_

“Chaque jour, il me supplie de le sauver, de lui donner notre même cadeau, mais je ne peux pas le faire... Et puis il maudit mon nom, et il a raison de le faire! A quoi bon tout ça si je ne peux même pas sauver ma famille?” _(Every day he asks me to save him, to give him our gift, but I cannot do it... And then he curses my name, and he’s right in doing so! What good is all this if I can’t even save my family?)_

Sébastien was basically shouting then, and NIcholas felt his heart tighten as he listened to his friend's words.

“Vous avez appelé notre condition un cadeau quand vous m'avez trouvé en Russie ... Eh bien, je n'en veux pas! C'est une malédiction, un cauchemar qui m'a obligé à assister à la mort de touts que j'ai jamais aimés” _(You had called our condition a gift when you found me in Russia... Well, I don’t want it! It’s a curse, a nightmare that made me witness the death of all the people I loved)_

Sébastien pushed Nicholas away and fell on his knees, in a mockery of a prayer.

“Je veux que cette situation se termine, je veux mourir avec mon Jean Pierre... je veux juste que toute notre douleur cesse...” _(I want this situation to end, I wnat to die with my Jean Pierre... I just want our pain to end)_

NIcholas helped him get up and, despite wanting to get him away from all that pain, straightened him and guided him back to the hospital doors.

“Retourne chez ton fils, reste avec lui, car il aura besoin de toi au pire moment. Nous toi attendrons à bras ouverts quand tout sera fini, mon frère” _(Go back to your son, stay with him, because he’ll need you in the worst moment. We will be waiting for you with open arms, my brother)_


	7. Cages, prisons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andromache looked in terror at the men taking Quynh away from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> Day 3 of Febuwhump is here! The prompt is “Imprisonment”
> 
> p.s. IDK if I've already said this or not, but I'm lazynbored on Tumblr, come say "Hi" if you want!

“Andromacheeee!”

Quynh was still shouting her name when the men who were taking her away closed the doors behind their backs.

Andromache kept on pulling her restraints, the cuffs splitting her skin open at her wrist while the chians didn’t budge one millimeter.

Blood was dripping on the floor freely, surely the pain must have been piercing, but she barely registered it.

The only thing registered in her mind, a vicious image that replayed in front of her eyes over and over again, was Quynh getting thrown into the iron maiden, the iron padlock being closed, and the heavy cage that kept her love imprisoned beeing carried away and loaded onto a ship.

Day after day, her tormentors came, tortured her hoping she would confess her sins, denounce the devil that had corrupted her sould and occupied her body, and die in peace. 

Day after day, she screamed herself coarse asking about Quynh, then cursing them when they ignored her questions. Not once she screamed for the pain of the torture, or for the hunger or thirst she felt during the imprisonment, because no pain could be worse than the one she had already experienced in seeing Qhyn disappear, and she missed nor food or beverage as much as she missed the better half of herself.

When few weeks, and many excruciating deaths, later Yusef and Nicolas put and end to her imprisonment, Andromache was almost catatonic with pain and grief, but that didn’t last long. 

After spending two days spent recuperating her strenght and composure, she decided it was time to track down all the people who had torn her love away from her arms. 

She was gonna get her sweet, strong, fierce Quynh back, and she didn’t care how many corpses she was gonna leave behind on her path.


	8. A brother, a sister, a family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the too many headcanons I have for what will happen after the events in the movie, when Quynh joins Booker in his exile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 4  
> Today's prompt is "Impaled"

It was a nice, summer evening, and the family was resting in the abandoned villa few kilometers outside Valencia Booker and Quynh had bought and fixed during his exile and her first months outside the ocean. Sébastien could still feel the wariness coming from the group towards him and, while he couldn’t blame them for it, it was clear that it hurt him.

Quynh had refused to join the group right after they had found her a year after resurfacing, claiming that since her dear brother Sébastien had helped her so much getting reacquainted to the world outside her cage even after she had killed him many times, she could not leave him to suffer alone.

She had got him to quit the drinking, open up to her about his loss, his grieving, his betrayal, and they had soon become as close as she once was with her other brothers Yusuf and Nicolò.

About two years after her return, they had left Paris together and wandered for a few months, but they had both known their journey was over once they had set their eyes on the declining walls and overgrown garden of the villa, so close to the sea Quynh could breath its perfume and perceive its immensity, without being crushed by her fear and memories of it.

She still had nightmares about the five centuries she had spent drowning in her cage though, horrible, hour-long nightmares that froze her skin and locked her muscles until she couldn’t take it anymore and woke up, screaming in rage and pain. It was the reason why she still slept alone, much to Andy’s and her dismay, but with Andy’s life at stake she didn’t want to risk hurting or even killing her while sleeping.

\--

When Booker heard strangled noises coming from the room next to his, he sprung out of the bed before even waking up and fully understanding what he was doing; he was already used to it, he had spent many nights sleeping next to Quynh after the bloodthirst she had felt right after leaving the cage had been quelled and she had no longer wanted to dismember him or any other of the team.

He padded to her room quietly, not wanting to alarm the others in case things turned bad; he knew Quynh wanted to go back to the family, but was afraid to let the others know about her lingering night terrors. The only reason she still hadn’t joined them was the fact that she didn’t want to leave him alone for the rest of his exile.

He slipped inside the bedroom, a quaint space decorated with many trinkets and mementos of her years before the cage, colorful rugs and afghans to fight the memories of freezeing water, not to mention all the blades and weapons that covered pretty much every surface. On the wall near her bed, a modern fireplace sorrounded by majolica tiles, souvenir from their trip to Sicily. 

Booker looked at her for a few moments, trying to undestand whether her nightmare was gonna end on its own, or he needed to intervene. 

When it was clear that Quynh was becoming more agitated, he knelt on the edge of the mattress and leaned over her to wake her up in a soft voice.

Just as he was about to touch her shoulder lightly, she bolted awake in terror, grabbed the first object she put her hand on, and attacked.

Sébastien, still slow-reflexed, didn’t stand a chance. 

In a matter of instants he found himself impaled on the poker she used for the fireplace, just as Quynh was regaining consciousness.

Quynh screamed, then quickly pulled the poker out of his guts, and he fell into her arms, his dark blood gushing on her linens and covers.

The whole family barged in the room, weapons in hands, and watched him die in her embrace, as her tears fell on his face and she kept begging him to wake up.

When Sébastien woke up, too many agonising minutes later, and saw their grief-staken looks change into pure elation, he felt good. 

He felt forgiven.


	9. The thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travelling through lands that still bore the devastating effects of the Cristian invasion next to a Frank is not the safest thing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here’s my fill for day 5 on this exciting challenge!
> 
> The prompt is: "Take me instead"

**"Take me instead"**

They should have known better; Yusuf should have known better. He should have known that, travelling through the countries that had been destroyed in the war and still showed signs of destruction and death, in company of a man who (with his rosy complexion and pale eyes) couldn't be anything but a Frank, was a mistake.

In his defense, after they had fled Jerusalem, they had stuck to the desert, moving from oasis to oasis and pretty much trying to avoid major settlements and cities.

When they had realised that the women from their dreams were looking for them, and were looking for them in cities instead of villages and towns, they had had to resign to the fact that they couldn't keep travelling the way they had been, and had had to reroute towards the nearest city.

As they started to approach bigger settlements, they agreed on a plan and hoped it would work; Yusuf would always walk in front of Nicolò, he would be the only one speaking, and also the first to eat the best pieces of food from their shared plate. In fewer words, Yusuf would behave like he was Nicolò's master, and Nicolò an invader he had captured and tamed during the war.

It was not the best of plans: more ofter than not, people felt they had the right to yell at the Genoan, throw rocks at him, even refuse to let him inside taverns and lodgings and make him sleep in the stables or sheds.

Yusuf's soft heart shattered a bit every time that happened, but Nicolò would look at him with sad eyes and tell him it was OK, not to worry, it was not like he didn't deserve that.

They were staying in a fairly big city. They had arrived few hours prior, after long days of tiring journey under a scorching sun, and they were thirsty, hungry, worn out.

They were sitting at the table, or at least Yusuf was sitting at the table while Nicky was sitting cross-legged on the floor, waiting for Yusuf to stop eating and giving him his leftovers, when a wealthy looking merchant got up from his chair and walked to the door. 

As he walked, Nicolò noticed he had dropped his purse and, in his typical kindness, he collected it to give it back to the merchant; he had the silky pouch in his hand, when the merchant stormed back, looked at him and yelled: “Give it back, you filthy thief!”

In a sudden, many people gathered around Nicolò, yelling, pushing him, trying to grab him and harm him.

Yusuf stood up and pushed himself between the small mob and his companion, who was still lost in the cacophony of languages and dialects he didn’t understand, and faced the angry merchant.

“That rabid dog of a Frank you keep as servant is a thief!” the merchant yelled, red in the face and spitting.

“My name is Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad ibn Al-Kaysani, and I too was a merchant before becoming a soldier and fighting to protect our land! I can guarantee Nicolò is an honest man, no one has ever accused him of anything!” Yuuf replied, irritated for the wrong accusation. It irked him that people were judging Nicolò only by his look and his origins, as it had irked him when the invaders had done the same with him

“He still has my purse in his hands, as all good men here can testify!” the merchant said. “I am sure you are an honest man, but you have to understand you cannot trust an infidel! Who knows how many times he has taken advantage of your good name to cover up his thefts, that scoundrel!”

Things were not looking good for them; Nicolò indeed still had the purse in his hands, and since he was nothing but an invader to them, and they wanted revenge, all the men inside the inn were ready to swear they had seen him steal.

“I am sorry for you, my friend, but as merchant and soldier you must know the law! If a slave commits a felony, he must be killed and his master must be punished” the man admitted, sounding actually sorry.

Yusuf wished they could just escape, but there was no way to fight their way to safety without being killed and risk betraying their secret.

Nicolò quickly reached the same conclusion, and he turned to face him.

“Let them get me” he said in their mingled language of Greek and Ligurian; “Yusuf, let them get me! They’ll kill me, it will be quick, and as soon as they’ll go away, you’ll come get me and we’ll run away”.

Yusuf was about to refuse, when Nicolò turned back to the man and said in broken arabic “I confess! I stole the purse! My master didn’t know, he’s a good man! I deceived him, let him go and take just me instead!”

There was an uproar. 

Nicolò was quickly grabbed and dragged away by most of the man, while the merchant stood back with Yusuf and offered him some tea and unwanted, disturbing chatter about his travels, his wives back at home who were waiting for him, and how, if Yusuf wanted, he could go back with him and start dealing in spices and perfums as his partner.

When, after an agonizing hour of waiting, Yusuf managed to get rid of the merchant and leave the tavern, he immediately set out in search of Nicolò.

He found him just outside the main gate. The mob had stoned him, and he was still laying in a pool of his blood. He was completely still, but in the silence of the night Yusuf was relieved to hear the wheezing sound of Nicolò’s breath.

When he reached him and started to beg for forgiveness, Nicolò stopped and smiled. the only thing that mattered is that they were both safe now.


	10. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the immortals, Joe was usually the one who had no trouble sleeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am for day 6 of my Febuwhump marathon.  
> Today’s prompt is “Insomnia”.

*** --- ***

If you asked anyone in the family about their sleeping habits, they would tell you every single one of them suffered from bouts of insomnia.

Well, every one _but_ Joe. 

It’s not like he didn’t witness his fair share of gruesome events, or that he suffered less than the others, or was even better at coping.

On the contrary, the emotional and mental toll some missions took on him also left a physical effect, and that’s the main reason why Joe slept so much, on no matter what surface and in no matter what position; as long as he had some form of contact with Nicky (spooning him, touching him, or even just talking to him on the phone or texting him for a couple of minutes before laying down was enough), he could sleep like the dead (pun intended).

That’s why it was so weird, for Booker, who instead had learnt to embrace his loss of sleep many decades ago and could only rest properly after an exceptional physical effort, or downing quite a lot of booze, to see Joe up at 2:30 in the morning.

What was even weirder, was that Joe was not drawing, or writing some verses, or even reading. He was just sitting on the sofa, with his elbows placed on his thighs and hands entwined under his chin, looking at nothing.

However, with all that had happened in the last few days, their capture, the discovery of his betrayal, their fight against Merrick’s men and the shocking news of Andy’s mortality, he could understand why Joe had troubles sleeping.

Booker decided it would have been better not to disturb him and walked silently to the kitchen, but his plan was ruined by the whine of the fridge door when he opened it. He muttered few swears and closed it, leaning on it on his back, his thirst forgotten.

Joe stood up, walked towards him, and stopped.

There was a slight height difference between them, with Booker being a couple of inches taller, but when Joe was in front of him, looking down at him like that, he felt he was as little and insignificant as an ant. Or even less, actually.

When Booker mustered the minuscule amount of courage left in him and raised his eyes to look into Joe’s, the depth of rage, grief, and disappointment in them almost swallowed him whole. It was like looking into his wife’s and sons’ eyes again, when he had told them he couldn’t share his immortality with them.

The spell was suddenly interrupted by the sting of Joe’s hand on his cheek.

Not the vicious beating he had expected despite knowing that neither Nicky or Joe were cruel men. Not even a punch, meant to cause the pain he would have welcomed as the beginning of his journey to forgiveness.

A slap.

Like the gesture of a deeply crestfallen father toward a bratty, ungrateful child.

With no words between them, Joe turned away from him, and retreated into his room.

Booker slid along the fridge, put his face in his hands, and wept.

** - **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, hurt and no comfort, I’m sorry.


	11. First death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immortals remember a very different "first" than normal people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, here I am with another ficlet.
> 
> Day 7 means “Poisoning”

People say you never forget your first.

They usually mean your first kiss, first fuck, first love maybe.

For us, it means the first death.

It doesn’t matter if it happened three weeks ago, like Nile’s, 920 years ago like Nicky and Joe’s, or more than six thousand years ago, like mine.

And it doesn’t even matter if we died hundreds and hundreds of times between here and there.

Our first death shaped our whole life.

Booker, that fucker, still can’t stand cold, and would preferably mealt inside an active vulcano than freeze to death; moreover, he still doesn’t wear scarves or clothes that could choke him, and the one time Nicky made him watch “Deep Red” he fled from the sofa and retched in the toilet for ten minutes.

Joe and Nicky, instead, have a totally opposite reaction. They both remember where they striked each other outside Jerusalem, and almost every time they return from the dead, they caress those spots tenderly, as to reaffirm they have come back together the first time and they will always come back together.

My first death, it was poisoning.

I was the chief of my tribe; I was a warrior, and had conquered a fairly big territory; but I also wanted peace for my people, so when the Elders in the council arranged a union with a, until then, friendly tribe, I agreed.

The celebration lasted two days, more than enough for the Deadly Nightshade they had put in my wine to work its magic.

When I got back to life, the Elders announced it was a miracle, and declared me a Goddess.

It didn’t matter. Nothing saved them from my righteous fury.

Even today, the deaths I hate the most are the ones from poisoning.

They still taste like treason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who have never seen “Deep Red” (or “Profondo Rosso” in italian) by Dario Argento, here’s the scene that I think Booker would not appreciate. https://youtu.be/L61q0M0T250?t=302  
>  Spoiler: be aware it’s the end of the movie, so if you want to watch the whole film, you should NOT click on the link.
> 
> Watch at your own risk, TW: gore, blood, violence.


	12. Frozen in the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a mission goes wary, Booker and Nile find themselves surrounded by cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> Today’s prompt is “Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep”

****

“Hey, hey, this is no time to sleep, old man!” Nile almost shouted as soon as she saw him close his eyes again.

The mission (taking down the head of a drug cartel during a party in which also too young girls were offered as _entertainment_ ) had turnt south when Quynh, in her haste to save a girl from being assaulted, had inadvertently triggered an alarm.

In a matter of seconds, they had been surrounded by dozens of armed men, and they had split in order to escape. Joe and Nicky had fled through a window, landing on a very expensive Porsche; Andy had lead the others towards the back entrance through the kitchen, with Nile and Booker covering the retreat for their mortal sisters.

Andy and Quynh had managed to get out when a fucker with a grenade launcher had appeared. Booker had barely had the time to push Nile inside the walk-in freezer and close the door behind their backs.

So they only had to wait for their friends to get them out.

“Have I ever told you I hate cold?” Sébastien croacked, but his teeth were clattering so much his words were almost incomprehensible.

“Not in the last 2 minutes, no” Nile answered with a smirk, as she rubbed her arms quickly to produce an illusion of warmth. “At least, this is not Russia”.

“No, it definitely isn’t. We wouldn’t have been still alive if it had been” he replied somberly.

“You know you’ve never told me your story, right? I mean, I got some stuff from the others, but I’d like to hear the whole thing” Nile announced, managing to sound almost nonchalant, as if hearing about his life-long constellation of mistakes were just another way to pass the time.

Booker sighed. He knew he owed her his tale, just like he had owed Quynh or maybe even more, since Quynh had actually been able to witness flashes of it in-between deaths; he didn’t want to talk, but they were trapped, freezing, and alone, and if she wanted to die listening to an old asshole parading his failures, who was he to deny her?

So he started talking, the tales of the Revolution rolling out of his mouth almost flawlessly, like he wasn’t telling her his life but someone else’s.

He told her about his enthusiasm for the right cause, how he too had been an idealist at the beginning of the fight, but had quickly become disillusioned and bitter when he had understood they had fought for nothing: people like him were still starving; the yoke of the nobility had only given way to the yoke of the emperor. 

He told her that he had always been an able craftsman, that carving, engraving and bookbinding held no secrets to him, but although his talent had been great, it hadn’t put enough food of the table to feed five people, and that his desperation to support his family had drove him towards forgeries; that when he had been caught and forced to choose between jail and the enlistment, he had chosen the second so that his family could pretend he had joined of his own will and wouldn’t be arrassed or treated like criminals.

Booker skipped the part about the Russian campaign; Nile was a soldier, she knew of war as much as anyone else in the group, and moreover he knew she had read books about it during his exile. He mentioned the cold, the hunger, the desperation en passant, like they were nothing important, while they were actually the things that had kept him awake at night for two centuries before breaking him and leading him astray. 

He told her about meeting Andrea, Nicolas and Youssef, and imploring them to bring him home to his family; how they hadn’t want to and had tried to make himm see reason, but had to admit defeat.

He told her about his family not trusting him anymore, how he had coped with his wife resenting him and his children giving him the cold shoulder; how the mistrust had turnt to hate the moment he had revealed his condition and admitted he couldn’t share it with them.

Eventually he admitted that he had always known he had lost his family even before their deaths, and that every ounce of pain, desperation and grief he had felt and still felt (despite to a minor degree) was by his own hands.

When the cold got impossible to bear and he felt he was slipping into death, he turned to watch Nile and realised she had fallen asleep, and her tears were slowly freezing on her pained face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not happy with this ficlet at all, but my Muse has gone on holiday a couple of days ago and still hasn’t come back.
> 
> Please bear with me.


	13. Irony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The irony of the whole situation was enough to make her smile, despite all the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 is here, and the prompt is “Buried alive”.
> 
> It’s a slight turn on the prompt, since it won’t be about a proper burial, but instead more like a shitton of rubble.

°°°°°

The irony.

Oh, the fucking irony of it all!

What else would you call spending centuries drowning in the freezing cold water of the North Sea, dying every few minutes, and then finally escaping, swimming painfully for days until a ship found her, disembarking on land, just to end up buried again, this time under several tons of rubble and concrete?

How all that had happened, she didn’t really know.

One minute she had been trying to light a fire in the rundown building she had been hiding in on her way to track down the sad, French rat who had shot her beloved Andromache, and the following she had been caught in an explosion that had completely obliterated the whole structure.

When she had woken up, she had realised she was stuck under a slab of concrete; she had been in pain, but that was nothing new: as much as she was immortal, she could still feel pain, and hunger, and thirst like any other mortal human being.

The smoke had been so thick around her she hadn’t been able to check her injuries properly, but she had just assumed she had been healing as usual.

That’s why it had downed on her like a surprise when, after the men in red uniforms had reached for her among the ruins, pushed a needle in her arms and dosed her with some sort of drug, she had immediately succumbed to sleep.

Only when she had woken up few hours later in what looked like some sort of recovery institution, and a kind woman in a white dress had given her a mirror, she had understood.

Well, at least she didn’t have to worry about what she would have done after Andromache’s few years left were over.

She would have followed her, and been with her forever.

That thought put a smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my headcanon, Andormache and Quynh are either both still immortal, or are mortal together. There's no in-between.
> 
> As you may imagine, my Muse is still minding her own business somewhere else. I at least hope she’s having fun, because I’m definitely not.


	14. The roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe is having the best of times at college, and his life is about to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> Day 10 means I’m 1/3 into the Febuwhump fic marathon!  
> Today’s prompt is “I’m sorry, I didn’t know”  
> First AU of the marathon, it probably won’t be the only one; it's also one of the most beloved AUs, the "OMG they were roommates!"  
> For the sake of the story, Nicky and Joe are the same age.

***

“Almost done, one last effort! Here we are!” Joe announced, as his friend and he finally reached his shared housing and could finally drop the damn heavy dresser they had carried for what they felt like miles.

“Please, tell me this was the last piece of forniture we needed to carry up here! I can’t fell my arms anymore!” Booker lamented, as he dropped of the couch they had hauled in few hours before.

“Yeah, yeah, last one I swear! Noor is gonna drop here later with a couple of boxes of books and some clothes, but we’ll manage without you” Joe replied, heading for the cooler they had prepared in advance and fishing up two beers, one of which ended up in his friend’s hands.

“Merci” Booker mumbled, before downing half of it in a gulp.

“It’s not a bad place, you know? You could have ended up way worse... How many roommates you said you’re getting?” Booker asked.

“Just one, and moreover he’s not gonna move in here for another month! That means I finally get the privacy I’ve never had in my life, woo-hoo!” Joe announced happily. it wasn’t like he didn’t love his big family, but spending his childhood and teenage years sharing his bedroom with his two older brothers (and having a sister, too) had not been easy, and he was elated he could finally have a place on his own to... _enjoy some company in peace._

“Fils de pute, you really lucked out this time!” Booker laughed, then took the last swing of his beer and got up. “Gotta go, I’ve got a date with Adele in an hour. See ya around!” he waved and disappeared out of the door before Joe could reply.

Joe swam in his new life as a college student like a fish in water; he was charming, easy-going, flirty, and being a LGBT+ art student and artist in one of the most liberal colleges in the country opened his life to a whole world of new scenarios.

He joined the campus LGBT+ organisation, helped organising meetings, rallies and foundraisings; he also started dating a lot, flying from fling to fling and enjoying all the perks of being young and single. 

He didn’t let it hold him back from having the best education possible though, and applied diligently in his studies.

He was indeed working on his assignment when the door busted open and someone almost fell into the flat face down. The person was carrying so much stuff at once it was not only impossible to see their face, but even to understand if they were human beings at all.

Joe took pity on them and went grabbing some of the things they were carrying, and that were on the verge of falling down.

“Here, here, give it to me!” Joe said, grabbing the couple of paper bags which stood above three cardboard boxes. As soon as he lifted them, he was met by the most beautiful pair of eyes he’d ever seen.

They were a light shade of green, somewhere between pale emerald, jade, and aquamarine, a unique colour not even him, despite being an artist, knew the name of.

He stood frozen for a second, until a shy sound shook him out of his reverie.

“Uh, uhm, thank you for your help. I’m Nicolò, but you can call me Nicky. We will share this place, yes?” the newcomer greeted him in a lovely, accented voice, and moved to the side to close the door behind him.

“Yes, yes! Nicky, hi, I’m Joe! Come in, I’ll show you your room!”, and he let the other in, chatting away about shared spaces, kitchen rules and so on so fast he was giving himself, not to mention Nicky, a headache.

Joe knew he was starting to ramble a bit in his attempt to distract himself from the fact that the sight of Nicky’s eyes only had been enough to make at least five poems blossom in his mind; so, he finally mustered to shut up and guided Nicky to his room.

When Nicky laid the three boxes he was carrying on his desk, Joe could finally take a good look at his body, and felt his mouth go dry. Nicky had the physique of a greek statue, with his long limbs, broad shoulders, and strong thighs, and a nose that would have been perfect on the bust of a stoic Roman emperor.

He felt lust pooling in his groin, blurted out an excuse, and retreeted in his bedroom in a flash.

He leant against the closed door, a murmured a “Fuck!” 

If Booker had been here, he would have spat a lung and laughed himself into an early grave.

\----

Life with Nicky, if Joe ignored the butterflies fluttering in his stomach every time he saw him smile, heard him speak, and tasted his cooking, was extremely easy. The months were flying by, and Joe had gotten used to coming home in the evening, after hours of lessons and workshops, and having dinner with the wonderful food Nicky prepared for him every night, before leaving to join his friends to party.

Joe had learnt hat Nicky was Italian, and had arrived at the campus later than Joe because of his father’s passing just a couple of weeks before leaving for the college. He was also catholic and had always studied in catholic schools, but when Joe had asked him what had prompted him to change his mind and attend a liberal college, Nicky’s smile had dimmed and he had not answered the question.

It didn’t matter in the end, because he was a lovely person, as devoted to his studies as Joe was; differently from Joe, he was quite shy, and spent his time alone at the library or volunteering at the shelter for veterans not far from the campus.

The only person Joe had heard Nicky talk about was his friend Nile, who was one of the shelter’s founders and whose father had served and had been killed in action. 

They had never talked about their love life, and Joe had thought that Nicky was a reserved person in that part of his life, too. He could almost picture him though, standing at the altar next to a pretty girl, looking like an angel in the opulence of a typical catholic cathedral.

That’s way he was completely blown apart the night when, after partying well into the night with Booker and his friend Andy and Quynh from the LGBT+ organisation, he walked home to find Nicky necking on the couch.

With a man. 

A gorgeous man, like, modelling material. The kind of guy who’d stand in a Abercrombie & Fitch shop window and have teenage girls and boys thirst on; certainly not the kind of guy Joe would expect his shy, pensive Nicky to spend his time with.

He was standing near the sofa, watching the scene unfold in front of him, when Nicky noticed he was there, pushed the guy away from him, and stood up.

The guy, obviously not at all happy of being abruptly pushed aside, left muttering some curses and slamming the door behind him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming home... I thought you were already in your room sleeping” Nicky murmured, obviously very embarassed by the whole situation.

“Yeah, well, I admit I was not expecting... this!” Joe blurted, vaguely gesticulating at the couch. 

Nicky suddenly looked hurt.

“Why? Is it because I’m plain, old me? Because I’m ordinary, meek, and obviously can’t attract someone like him? Or were you expecting me to keep pining after you, when you haven’t given me any hope about us?” Nicky replied, torn between hurt and fury.

“Wait, I’ve neer said that, wait, _what_?”

Joe was stunned, and for once in his life, utterly speechless.

He was tired, slightly drunk, and his brain didn’t work properly, and he was absolutely unable to come up with a coherent reply, so Nicky kept on. 

“I know I never stood a chance with you, you’ve made it completely clear by ignoring all my attempts at wooing you and coming back with all those men, but I expected you not to be one of those guys who are all ‘I don’t want you, but I don’t you to have anyone else either’. I thought you were nicer than that, but maybe I was wrong.”

Nicky deflated, sitting on the couch with his back hunched and tears in his eyes.

After few beats, Joe spoke up.

“You have been wooing me? How was I supposed to know...” and then stopped.

His mind was producing images of all the dinners Nicky had cooked him, how Nicky had learnt to cook all the tunisian dishes Joe had said he missed.

He thought about the time Nicky had driven his car all around the city and visited all the florists he could find,looking for the exact flowers Joe had decided to paint for one of his exams; last, he remembered Nicky staying with him all night the one time he had got a bad bronchitis that left him almost delirious for the fever.

He sat down next on the couch too.

“Nicky, Nicky please look at me” he pleaded, and managed to put up a small smile when Nicky raised his head towards him.

“Here you are. Listen to me carefully, because there is so much I wanna say my brain is going to burst, and I’m sure my words won’t be very coherent, so pay attention ok?”

Nicky nodded tiredly.

“Ok, here we go... I’m sorry. I’m sorry I've been a fool and I’ve been blind, I knew you were raised a catholic, and I assumed you were straight and wanted to finsh college before finding a good girl and settle down. I nevert thought you could have feelings for men, let alone for me.

I thought you were only being nice, I... we’re very vocal, in my family, about our feelings. I always assume people talk about their feelings, but you‘ve been showing me in a totally different way, and I didn’t get the memo.”

Nicky sniffled. “It’s ok, it’s not your fault. I know I should speak up, but the way I was raised... I cannot expect people to read my mind. I’m sorry I yelled at you Joe, I was unfair”.

Tears pooled up in Nicky’s eyes again, and they stayed silent for a few minutes.

“So...” Joe started, uncertain. “You’ve been wooing me? You like me?” 

“Yes, I have since I arrived here. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I could leave, if you wanted” Nicky answered, though Joe could see the sadness behind his offer.

“It would be awful and very, very stupid of me, asking you to leave, after spending all these months picking up men I had no interest in with the only hope of getting over my feelings for you.” Joe said with a soft smile.

Ha carefully watched Nicky’s face, and waited for him to realise what Joe had said.

As soon as it dawned on him, Nicky’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets, and Joe couldn’t stifle a laugh.

He framed his face with his elegant hands, and brought their lips together.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest thing I’ve written in weeks, and by far the longest Febuwhump ficlet!  
> I also managed to put some comfort in!   
> It took me ages though, so I’m still not counting it as a victory.


	15. The hallucination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the things he thought his brain could come up with, he certainly didn't expect her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 11  
> The prompt today is “Hallucinations”  
> Let’s go!

^^^^^^^^^

_“I’ve done it!”_ he thought, _“I’ve finally done it! I’ve finally drunk myself into my grave!”_

What else could he have thought, while she was standing in front of him?

He had to admit his alcohol-damaged brain still had a lot of fantasy, becase the image of her it had created was not the one of pale, ghostly figure drowing over and over in her cage at the bottom of the ocean.

Oh no, she was stunning. She was petite and lithe, yet her bright red coat and, most of all, the lethal aura she trasmitted, made her look larger than life. 

_“A pit viper in a fight, Andy had described her”_ his brian supplied, and he couldn’t agree more.

His gun was still drawn and he didn’t know why, he was about to chuckle and put it away, when the hallucination spoke.

“Hello, Booker”. His brain had provided her with a soft voice, yet she still sounded threatening. She drank a small sip of water from hes glass ( _”Wonderfully ironic, well done brain!”_ ), then put it aside and walked towards him.

Booker lowered the gun, feeling a little ridiculous for having pointed it at the product of his waning imagination. 

He was strangely curious and eager to know what was gonna happen next.

When she stood in front of her, they looked in each other’s eyes, and when she smiled a bit, he replied with a small smile of his own.

It was when she put her hands on his face, however, that he finally realised something was wrong.

He had had his fair share of hallucinations before, were they from hunger, thirst, drugs or lack of oxygen, but none of them, neither the lovely ones in which he had seen his family happy as it had been before he had been arrested, or the painful ones where his loved ones had died hating him, had ever managed to touch him in such a physical way.

“Tell me, Booker, what made you think you had the right to shoot my beloved Andromache? To betray my only family?” she asked, and before he fully understood what she was about to do, her calm expression turned to blind fury, and she snapped his neck.

###

On the other side of the ocean, in the Tango safehouse in the outskirts of Mexico City, Andy was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for Joe and Nicky to finish cooking breakfast.

When Nile stumbled in the room, the placid atmosphere in the room immediately turned into a state of alert.

“It’s Quynh!” Nile panted, still out of breath after her dream.

“She’s out of the water, and she’s just killed Booker!”

^^^^^^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s one of the many headcanons I have about the last scene of the movie and what could happen next. If you’ve read the comic, you know it’s very vaguely canon-compliant.
> 
> It’s another very short, not that good ficlet, I’m sorry.


	16. The sun, his eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most important things Nicolò noticed about the Holy Land were the sun, and his enemy's eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 12  
> The prompt today is “Who are you?”

§§§

Since they had arrived in the Holy Land several months ago, the sun had beaten on their heads costantly, mercilessly.

Its light blinded their eyes, its heat cooked and dried their pale skin, its relentlessness consumed their resistance.

Many of them had already fallen dead because of it, almost as many as the ones dead by the hands of the Infidels that were occupying those sacred lands.

They had been camped outside Jerusalem for two weeks now, and Nicolò was tired.

Tired of fighting without gaining an inch of land or a small breech to enter the city; tired of being hungry (so hungry he could have eaten his horse, had he had one), of being thirsty (who would have thought that the city the monks had described him as the Garden of Eden had not water for miles outside its walls, except few, almost dried out, wells?); tired of feeling his faith waver and thinking the war was an enormous mistake.

Most of all, though, he was tired of the nightmares.

-

They had started a few days ago. 

He and some other soldiers were patrolling the east side of the wall, and after some tedious hours, they had spotted some infidels near one of the few wells that still had had water in them, most likely trying to poison it. 

Instead of retreating, the few Saracens had bared their weapons, and a fight had started.

After knocking two of them down with his crossbow, Nicolò had found himself facing one of them; he had been a skillfull opponent, and they had fought for a long time. In the end, they had started making mistakes, and payed for them: Nicolò had ended up with a gash on his torso that had nearly cut him in half from the shoulder to the stomach, while his enemy had got Nicolò’s dagger in the space between groin and thigh.

The last thing Nicolò had seen before darkness had taken him had been his opponent carried away by his companion, looking almost dead.

Nicolò had woken up hours later, still in the same place in which he had thought he had died; he had walked to the abandoned corpses of his fellow soldiers, had said some prayers for them, then he had returned to the camp.

His companions had been surprised to see him, but after seeing all the blood that still covered him, they had concluded it was a miracle and once again declared that God was on their side.

After the sunset and a meager dinner, Nicolò had collapsed on his bedroll.

He hadn’t been able to explain himself why he hadn’t died, or even why his body had not been marred after such a blow from the Infidel. His head had been pounding, and he had immediately fallen asleep.

That night, for the first time, he had not dreamt of the horrors he had seen in battle, but of two women travelling together, beautiful and deadly like two Archangels; he had also dreamt of the brown eyes of the Saracen whom he had fought in the afternoon, and how they had seem to carry the answers to all his doubts.

As the days and the nights had progressed, Nicolò’s dreams had remained the same: the two Amazons fighting, travelling, and even _sleeping_ together, and the Saracen with the deepest, warmest eyes.

Every morning, he had woken up even more tired and confused than the previous day, the sun shining bright above him, draining him of all his sweat and all his strenght.

-

Nicolò had met, and (he was sure now) killed and been killed by the Infidel several times during the siege; every time they had struck each other down, and every time Nicolò had woken up alone, unmarred, impossibly alive.

Why God had decided to grace both armies with a blessed soldier who couldn’t die, he had asked himself every time, and every time he had found no answer.

-

It was during the last attack to the city, after the siege towers and the catapults had broken down the walls and the soldiers had spilt in the city, that Nicolò and the Saracen soldier met again.

They immediately recognised each other, and launched themselves into yet another fight.

Once again, they were perfectly balanced; once again, they killed each other almost in the same moment.

The sky clouded, and big drops of rain started falling on them.

As he fell flat on his back and felt the Infidel collapse on him, too, Nicolò looked into his eyes and finally asked: “Who are you?”

§§§

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, hurt and no comfort - the only comfort we have is that we know how their shared history progressed from here ;)   
> In order to make it sound more historically accurate (it is not), I used words like "Infidel" and "Saracen"; I know they are considered offensive, but bear with me because as far as I know those were the names European people used to describe Muslims and people from North Africa, Middle East and the Arabic Peninsula.


	17. Mortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To be completely fair, being mortal sucked a mean d*ck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 13  
> The prompt for today is “Hidden injury”.

*!*!*

To be completely fair, being mortal sucked a mean dick.

Not that Andy would admit it to anyone but herself.

As far as the others were concerned, being mortal was tiring and her mortal body required way more aftercare than she was used to, but it also had the advantage of making them re-evaluate their existence and the meaning of their work.

In all honestly, though, many times the cons outweighed the pros.

As much as her training sessions with Nile or the missions flew by, she felt the effects of every single of them the following hours and sometimes days: stiff muscles, bruises growing and coloring under her skin, creaking joints and a general feeling of heaviness at the end of each day.

What angered her beyond immaginations, however, were not the results of her sparring sessions with her new protegée, or either the more serious injuries she got during missions; it was the little things, the stupid, senseless incidents that Joe, Nicky and Nile didn't have to worry about, but that now were annoying obstacles to her.

Andy had already burnt herself several times with hot pans or pokers; she had slipped on ice once and had to spend an entire afternoon icing her knee before to avoid the swelling. On a particularly infuriating occasion, she had stabbed her own hand gesticulating with a pair of scissors while inebriated, for fuck’s sake!

And now she was in bed, lying flat with heating pads stuck on her lower back and pumped full of anti-inflammatories and painkillers, just because a few hours earlier she had tried to drag a large trunk full of weapons, refusing the help of others, and had suffered a muscle tear.

So yes, her more philosophical side could appreciate the idea of her impending end and the possibility of joining Lykon and waiting for Quynh with him in the afterlife; her practical side damn hated the new frailty of her body.

She had to admit, though, that having her family (or what was momentarily left of it) laying next to her on the bed, laughing at the comedy on the television and exchanging stories about old times and old adventures (much to Nile appreciation), eating the cookies Nicky had baked just for her... well, it definitely counted as positive.

No, it was actually great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, today’s ficlet is short, only slightly on-topic, and not that angsty, but sometimes it’s good having the whump scale leaning towards comfort, right?


	18. the marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Joe announced he wanted to marry Nicky, he didn't expect such a reaction from his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 14  
> Today’s prompt is “I didn’t mean it”  
> It’s another “No powers, they’re normal people” AU

♣ ◘ ♣

Joe could not believe things had gone so bad, so quickly.

From the moment, earlier in the day, he had announced that he and Nicky were engaged, his friends had begun to protest and try to change his mind, with eloquent speeches which in their opinion showed all the flaws of his decision, but which actually expressed how little they had understood him and his betrothed.

"You and Nicky only met two months ago, it's too early!" Quynh had started. 

"You know so little about him, you've never even met his family, and he’s never met yours!" Nile then continued. 

"What if he just wants to exploit you, Joe?" Andy had put in, "You're older than him, more famous than him, richer than him; anyone would think of them as red flags."

“Yes, anyone who doesn't know Nicky as I know him, as my heart and soul know him" Joe had retorted, beating his fist on his chest to emphasize his words, now extremely irritated.

Truth to be told, Joe understood perfectly well what was behind their objections to his intention to marry Nicky.

Quynh had focused on the "novelty" of their love, because it had taken her and Andy years and years to find each other, realise that they were soul mates, and finally get married; she couldn't understand that for other people falling in love could be an immediate and instinctive event.

Nile had insisted on the family factor, because this was one of the traits that they shared: they both came from very close families, and she knew that for Joe the opinion of his family was of fundamental importance. So the idea that Joe wanted to get married before his family knew Nicky seemed absurd to her.

And Andy ... well Andy was the most pragmatic and protective person Joe had ever known, and she obviously showed this “mother bear” side of herself by doubting the good intentions of anyone who got too close to her or her friends.

What, in their overprotectiveness, they could not or perhaps did not want to understand, however, was that Joe was an adult, moreover an adult who had been able to leave his homeland, move to another continent, and establish himself in international level and the art world, which was one of the most difficult and competitive markets in existence; he was not a naive person, a fool in love unable to see beyond the pink veil that love had placed before his eyes.

Sure, he too would have been protective of any of them in such a situation, but their attitude had transcended protection and became unbearable. When he had pointed out all this to them, the three had become resentful and, after a few moments of oppressive silence and a few tense nods of greeting, they had left his house.

And now Joe was standing in his living room, completely drained of energy and patience; the only two things that supported him were the security of his love for Nicky and Nicky's love for him, and consequently the security of having made the right choice by deciding to marry him, and the fact that in the whole discussion at least his friend Booker hadn't objected and hadn't treated him like a fool.

He was about to express his appreciation for his support to his friend when Booker put his glass down on the coffee table.

“You're making a serious mistake," he began, in a low voice hoarse from the liquor he'd just drunk. 

“The girls are right, you don't really know Nicky, nobody really knows anyone, not even after years. You are an artist, a poet, a romantic at heart, and that's fine if you have to sell paintings to wealthy entrepreneurs who no longer have a shred of soul. However, marriage is not for romantics; it's just a cage in which you will wither ... you will never recognize yourself again, and your beloved Nicky will end up hating you” Booker concluded looking away.

Joe was stunned. Of all the ways he had hoped for this wonderful day to end, this one was so absurd that it hadn't even occurred to him. 

The astonishment, however, soon gave way to anger again, and he found himself taking his friend by the collar.

“What do you even know about love, you pathetic bastard?” he screamed in his face. “Just because your marriage has gone down the drain doesn't mean you can spit poison on other people's decisions. I'm sorry your wife kicked you out, I know losing your family is killing you, but you know how much I've tried to help you these months, and the fact that you now come to destroy my happiness just because you haven't been able to keep yours is some bullshit I never expected from you! You’re supposed to be my best friend, you asshole!”

Booker looked at him with such a miserable expression that Joe immediately regretted his reaction and let him go. He moved away from his friend, putting his face in his hands, and when he raised his head again he saw him wipe away the tears that were streaming down his cheeks with a trembling hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, any of it...” Joe started, but his voice drifted away when Booker interrupted him.

“I know. God, Joe, I know... That doesn’t make it less true though, right?” Booker forced out a sarcastic laugh, before continuing.

“I’ve been a shitty husband, Joe, and I’m being a shitty friend now. Looks like I’m overall a shitty person, but you’re nothing like me Joe, and I don’t even know why I said those things to you. I regret every single one of them, honestly”

Joe looked at him with pleading eyes. 

“Please, you have to see that Nicky and I belong together. I could live with the girls not supporting us, even if we both know I would still suffer and hope for them to change their minds. But I cannot go on with this without having you by my side, _akhi_. You used to believe in love, please believe in us now”

Hearing Joe still calling him brother, even after the months he had spent being a miserable drunk on his sofa, crying himself to sleep while Joe hugged him and told him everything was going to be fine, and also after the horrible things he had just said, made Booker realise that, despite everything, Joe was probably the only one who still had faith in him.

His frown disappeared, giving way to a timid smile; the first in many months.

“I am on your side, _mon frère_. I am now, and I will always be.

Forgive the ramblings of a sad man... If there’s a person in this world that can make a marriage work and show everybody what love is, that person is you, Joe.”

♣ ◘ ♣

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not exactly happy with the ending, but that’s the best I came up with, so... here it is.


	19. A peculiar mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission to destroy a drug cargo in a warehouse takes a weird turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 15  
> Prompt: “Run, don’t look back!”  
> In my headcanon, this story is set between when Quynh stopped killing Booker, and the family reunited for good.

♠ ♦ ♠

It was supposed to be a simple mission: enter the warehouse, destroy the drug shipment just arrived from Afghanistan before it was turned into millions of doses, millions of dollars and thousands of potential deaths, and kill as many bad guys as possible. They knew they couldn't dismantle the entire cartel easily, but any cargo destroyed was still a blow to its finances.

Andy had always been sure she could trust her Russian sources, but evidently there had been changes within the Bratva chain of command, and alliances had changed, because as soon as the group arrived at the warehouse, it was immediately clear that something was not right.

For one thing, it was all too quiet and deserted. Although the criminal organizations were used to operating in secrecy and silence, ports and warehouses were always populated by armed groups, but no one could be seen there. No one to guard the perimeter, no one to report unwanted presences, no one to check or move stocks.

The closer they got to the goal, the more the lack of enemies in sight disturbed them, but by now the operation was in full swing and, after a short interview, everyone decided to continue and understand the reason for those strange circumstances.

It was when Nile nearly tripped over the corpses of three heavily armed criminals as he turned a corner that things began to unravel. It was immediately clear that someone had arrived at the Cartel's hideout before them; however, instead of finding the slaughter they would have expected if it were a war between rival gangs, the killings were clean, methodical, organized.

Andy made the group stop and, as Nicky, posted on a nearby crane, pointed them to a safe hiding place, she, Nile and Joe reunited to have a brief confrontation and clear their minds. Nicky joined them after a few minutes, because it was now clear that his job as a sniper in this operation was useless.

“It's all too weird, boss," Joe murmured. 

"If I didn't know Copley had checked several times, I'd say it looks like some government agency intervention," Nile agreed.

“Fuck it!" Andy hissed, annoyed at the thought that Copley might have missed signals, or worse yet, voluntarily omitted them.

“We have to keep going, guys. We have to figure out who's behind it. And if it's Copley, well, this time he won't get away with it.“ she concluded, and as soon as she got the ok from the others, she began to advance towards the target.

The closer they got to the warehouse, the more the number of dead bodies of traffickers left on the ground increased; it was only when they reached the doors of the building that they heard noises coming from inside.

Tired of playing hide and seek and wanting to figure out who or what was behind that strange operation, Andy opened the door about an inch and took a look at the situation.

Two people dressed in black stood in the center of the warehouse, with their backs to them; one, lean and petite, was standing and carefully watching the other, who was kneeling on the ground and fumbling with a timer connected to an explosive charge and several barrels of fuel.

When the kneeling person finished, he got up from the ground and signaled to the other that it was time to leave.

It was at that moment that Andy, tired of playing hide and seek and wanting to know who or what was behind it, kicked the door open, and the whole team threw themselves into the warehouse.

When the two figures in black, alerted by the rapid movement of the group, turned towards them arms in hand, it was as if time had stopped.

In front of Andy, Nile, Joe and Nicky there were no mercenaries of a rival cartel, or even agents sent by some agency.

Staring at them from behind their guns were Booker and, something that made the team's blood run cold, Quynh.

“ _Oh Signore_ ” murmured Nicky, his pale green eyes wide open in shock; next to him, Joè cursed in an old dialect that even he had forgotten he had learned.

Nile kept shifting her gaze between Booker and Quynh, wondering how she had managed to leave her underwater prison without her seeing that in her dreams.

Andy was frozen in place. The gun had fallen from her hands, which now lay limp at her sides.

She stared at Quynh with a mixture of disbelief, ecstasy and immense pain, while Quynh returned her with a look of detachment and circumspection.

Booker, for his part, kept the situation under control; he knew very well that Quynh still didn't want to have anything to do with his old family, they had talked about it every day since she had appeared in his house about a year before, and therefore was ready to intervene in the case of anyone between Andy, Nicky and Joe got too close to her.

It was only when the beep of the timer signaled the last ten seconds of countdown before the explosion, that the spell was broken, and Booker shouted: “Run! Don’t look back!”

Joe and Nicky bolted in front of Andy and, with Nile’s help, managed to drag her out of the warehouse and as far away as possible from the bomb, shielding her when the explosion occurred.

They ran up to their car and quickly drove away from the harbor, as such a detonation would surely have drawn hundreds of firefighters and police to the scene.

Andy was still in shock, and didn't say a single word on the way to the safe house.

As Joe drove, she always looked out the window, as did Nicky and Nile for that matter; but in a brief moment when Nile moved her head towards her, she saw she was crying.

♣ ♦ ♣ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, not sure if this counts as whump, because it feels like waaaaaay more hurt than comfort.


	20. Those broken bones, you pick 'em up and carry 'em (home)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was just one thing, in the violent life she was living, that Nile couldn't stand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 16
> 
> The prompt for day 16 is “Broken bones”

;.;.;.;

Since Nile had discovered her immortality and joined her new family just over five years earlier, physical damage, injury, and even death had accompanied her almost daily.

She couldn't remember what her first death had been like, the bleeding from the knife wound in her neck; she remembered the fear and shock, but not the physical sensations she had felt.

After that, there had been Andy's shot to the head: quick and painless, she hadn't even noticed it.

During those first days with the squad, there had been many more gunshots, both at her and at the others; she had burned her skin with fire when, hiding in the cave with Booker, she had discovered that immortality, which was a blessing for Joe and Nicky, was an endless nightmare for the Frenchman.

She had felt the agony of drowning every few seconds dreaming of Quynh, and had even seen Booker's exposed insides recomposing before her eyes after he was hit by a grenade, the wet, slimy noise still ringing in her ears.

In the following years, there were tons of scary accidents, violent and even cruel deaths for her and everyone on the team, and she was pretty much used to them; the only thing she hadn't gotten used to yet, since her infamous fall from Merrick’s tower (and she doubted it would ever happen), was broken bones.

The blinding pain, the disgusting "crack" of the break, the strange position that the broken limbs took... Nile could barely hold back her vomit in the face of every fracture, no matter if it was hers or someone else's in the family.

She was also a bit ashamed of this revulsion, as she was a former marine and an immortal warrior, raised in a family of fighters and adopted by another similar one; however, she just couldn't tolerate it.

The only positive note, the only thing that could put her back in a good mood, was that every time she confronted this pet peeve of hers, the others surrounded her with love and support, and every time they did that, she felt more and more part of something special.

\\\\\\\\\\\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Mark Knopfler's song "Broken Bones"  
> This ficlet is small and kinda boring :( I’m sorry about it!


	21. The harder the truth, the sweeter the forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a mission goes bad, Nile and Booker get captured, torured and drugged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 17  
> Today’s prompt should be “Field surgery”, but since it’s the Guard we’re talking about, I don’t think that prompt quite applies (unless it’s set after Andy’s loss of immortality).  
> So I’m gonna go for an alternative prompt , which is “Truth Serum”.
> 
> tw: drugs, mentions of violence

><><

As expected, the first mission after the family reunion was not going very well: already during preparation and planning, problems had arisen.

They had planned to go in in couples, but despite their mortality, Andy and Quynh had categorically refused to separate and allow one of their still immortal companions to protect them.

Likewise, Nicky and Joe had announced they would have stayed together; they hadn’t provided an exlanation, but to Booker it felt they still weren’t ready to trust him. The Frenchman had shrugged as if he hadn't cared, but Nile had noticed how, after his friends’ words, he had folded in on himself to move slightly away from them.

So Nile had said she would have been happy to go with him, which had earned her a grateful smile from Andy and Quynh, and after a few more adjustments to the plan of attack, they had given way to the mission: checking that the pharmaceutical company that had "inherited" the research left halfway by the untimely death of Steven Merick and the consequent bankruptcy of Merrick Inc. had not put their hands on data regarding their capabilities, and if there were any, destroy them. Moreover, they had also wanted to see if the bitch Meta Kozark was still working on their samples, and stop her once and for all.

\--

Despite the initial setbacks, everything had seemed to be going well, with Booker having managed to easily infiltrate the company's research archive despite numerous firewalls (thanks for the Trojan, Copley) and delete all references to "cell renewal", "extension of life", "regeneration" and "immortality", but as soon as he left the server room to rejoin the group that had gone looking for the physical samples taken by Joe and Nicky, he had found himself alone, surrounded by enemies and with a bound and incapacitated Nile thrown at his feet.

As soon as he had seen her on the ground, unconscious and bleeding profusely from a wound on her temple, he had decided to surrender, hoping to buy enough time for the others to find and free them.

And now they were both lying on tables, chained to them, and the men who had captured them were questioning them. After a long litany of "What do you want? Who sent you?", and some unoriginal and totally ineffective attempts at torture (" _Thank God they're gracious enough to leave Nile alone and insist on me_ " Booker thought), the captors remembered they were in a pharmaceutical laboratory and decided to try to loosen their tongues with "chemical aids".

Dread filled them both when the needles entered their veins, and they hoped their enemies didn't see how the small holes disappeared almost immediately from their skin.

As the serum travelled through his body, Booker started sweating, and he could see that Nile was having pretty much the same reaction. He decided to attract the perps' attention on himself, hoping that his system, used to burning alcohol (and sometimes drugs, too) at an inhuman speed, would react quicker than Nile's and prevent him to spill their secrets.

He was clinging to the last remnants of resistance, biting his lips until they bled in order not to answer the questions of the attackers, when he heard the shots outside the door, and moments later the group entered the laboratory.

Andy and Joe incapacitated the captors, while Quynh and Nicky went to free Nile and Sébastien from their restraint; then, after Andy Assured them that there were no samples stored and that she had Korzak’s address and planned to pay her a “friendly” visit, they all quickly abadoned the building.

\--

As soon as they were in the car, Nile started chattering away, thanking the group profusely, asking them if they were ok, complimenting Quynh for her beauty (to everybody’s mirth)... It was evident how much the serum was still inhibiting her ability to filter thoughts before she expressed them.

Booker, however, was stoically keeping silent; every now and then, Nicky and Joe gave him indecipherable looks, under the weight of which he struggled not to tremble.

When they got home, a few minutes later, the three women went straight to the house; Booker started to follow them, but Joe stepped in front of him and stopped him.

Booker knew there was no way to escape, because in addition to Joe's presence in front of him, he could feel the intensity of Nicky's gaze hammering his skull, and he exhaled slowly to keep calm.

“How do you feel, Bastien?" the man before him asked, and he was surprised that these words had been spoken with obvious concern. "Did they hurt you?"

“I'm not okay, Joseph, and I won't be okay for a few more hours ... But don't worry, I've made sure they didn't notice anything. I'm not going to give away our secret again" Booker replied, hating every word that came out of his mouth and even more the inability to stop.

“It wouldn’t have been your fault if you’d done it” Nicky said in his usual, meditative tone.

“Maybe, but it would have been another failure on my side, wouldn’t it?” Booker retorted, and Nicky felt his heart breaking a bit in seeing, in his friend’s eyes, the enormity of the guilt he was still carrying in his soul.

He looked at Joe in a silent plea, and Joe walked over and wrapped his arms around his friend's chest in an uncomfortable but sincere hug.

As soon as he felt Joe squeeze him, Booker stiffened and held his breath. He didn't expect such a gesture, just as he didn't expect the relieved smile on Nicky's face or the words Joe whispered in his ear.

“It is time to let go of the past and the guilt, _mon frère_. We have forgiven you, please forgive yourself."

<><>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I’ve already put the “Joe and Nicky forgive Booker” scene in at least three ficlets, but I’m a sucker for it, and can’t wait to see it in the sequel (my mind rejects the possibility that there is no sequel).


	22. Marseille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe and Nicky are tasked with a special mission in Marseille.  
> Strictly connected to chapter 6 "I can't take it anymore"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 18  
> Today’s prompt is “I can’t see”   
> This story is, again, a little digression from the prompt, a little twist on the literal meaning of it.  
> tw: mentions of death, drinking, drugs

♦ ♥ ♦

Joe and Nicky were about to leave Malta, where they had been on vacation alone for a few weeks, when Andy called them.

“We're just about to leave, boss! You miss us so much you can't help but hear from us, huh?" Joe answered the phone, laughing.

“Yeah, I miss you so much," Andy replied sarcastically, but then her voice got serious. "Guys, the plan has changed. Instead of meeting at the Alpha safe house, I need you to go to Marseille for an extraction, the difficult kind.”

Joe stopped smiling, and motioned for Nicky to come over. "How difficult?" 

Andy replied immediately. "On a scale of one to one hundred? One hundred and fifty. It’s Booker." 

The answer startled them, but after a few seconds of uncertainty Nicky checked the calendar, and swore. Andy heard it, and the only thing she could say was "Yeah”, before she hung up the phone.

When Joe turned to Nicky asking for an explanation, Nicky simply said "Marseilles, November 1847. We can't leave him alone."

Suddenly everything was clear in Joe's mind. "You're right, habibi, there's really no time to waste. I'll pack your bags, you find the plane tickets."

‘ ‘ ‘ 

They arrived in Marseilles the next day, booked a hotel room, and after leaving their luggage and taking a short shower, they left for the mission.

It was evening now, and by the time they reached the municipal cemetery, the gates had already been closed for some time; even if Booker had been there in the afternoon, he'd been gone for hours already.

The two men looked at each other in concern, as they did not know where they could find their friend in a city they were not familiar with and to which they had not returned for a century and a half.

They had not returned there fifty years ago, because after the end of the Second World War they were so destroyed by grief and disgusted by human cruelty, that they had retreated to the mountains and had spent years in a state of almost perpetual drunkenness.

Even if Booker had been there in the afternoon, he'd been gone for hours. The two lovers exchanged a disconsolate glance, after which Nicky tried to call him, but with no answer. In all likelihood, the friend had thrown the phone in some dumpster to prevent others from disturbing him.

“I think what we have to do now is clear: we have to search every bar, bistro, tavern in town until we find him" Joe said, running a hand over his tense face.

“Yeah ... and when we're done with those, we'll also look in dirty alleys and drug dens, at least if we find him half dead we can take him away before anyone notices how quickly he gets back on his feet," Nicky added, grimacing at the thought.

They turned away from the gate of the graveyard, and went in search of Booker.

‘ ‘ ‘

They found him about 4 hours later, well after midnight; they had already gone to check the place to no avail, but now it was clear he was there: they could hear his hoarse voice as he argued with what must have been a bouncer.

The discussion was taking a decidedly negative turn when Joe and Nicky arrived. Indeed, they barely had time to see their dead drunk friend try to punch the man guarding the door, missing him by a kilometer, and hurried to grab him by the arms and drag him away before the other man reacted, shouting feeble apologies as they walked away.

As soon as they arrived at the hotel room, Booker tried to get his hands on the contents of the minibar, but Joe stopped him in time; Nicky meanwhile went to the bathroom and filled a couple of glasses with cold water, which he handed to his drunk friend.

After many glasses and many minutes spent in silence waiting for Sébastien to regain his lucidity, Joe sat down on the bed beside him, while Nicky crossed-legged on the floor in front of them, not caring about the dubious cleanliness of the carpet.

“How are you?" Joe asked, grimacing at the banality of his words; Booker didn't answer, just shrugged.

“We're sorry we didn't remember this painful anniversary, Bastien. We would have liked to be here with you, to give you our support," Nicky said, placing a hand on his friend's knee in a gesture of comfort.

"Thank you, Nicolas, but it wouldn't have changed anything. I needed to do it myself. I would have never expected...” 

Booker stopped speaking when a sob erupted from his lips involuntarily; then he began to tremble, biting her lip in a futile attempt to hold back his tears.

“What happened, _mon ami_?” Joe urged him, worried about his emotional state.

“The city council... They decided it was time to do some renovations in the cemetery. Months ago they asked families for permission to unearth and move the people in the graves in the oldest part of the cemetery, the one in decay.”

Sébastien began to cry at that point, his shoulders shaking with sobs so strong that Joe and Nicky could hardly hold back the tears themselves. With great difficulty, he began to speak again.

“There is no one in my family anymore and so, when they received no response, they told the workers to exhume the remains of Jean Pierre and cremate them. Nobody could tell me where they ended up. They’re gone. My Jean Pierre is lost forever, I can’t even see his tomb anymore!”

His despair was devastating for his friends: Joe hugged him tightly, letting Booker wet his shirt with his tears of pain; for her part, Nicky got up and knelt behind him, gently massaging his back and shoulders and muttering supportive words.

After a crying bout that seemed to last for hours, Booker let himself go completely exhausted in the arms of the couple, who made him lie down in bed; Nicky wasted no time: he bent down to take off their shoes, then got up to grab a blanket from the closet.

When Joe and Booker were comfortable, Nicky joined them in bed, covering all three of them with the blanket he was holding.

He met Joe's gaze over the shoulder of his friend lying between them, and without speaking, they both made a promise, the same promise they had made a hundred and fifty years ago. As long as they remained alive, their brother Sébastien would have a family in them.

♦ ♥ ♦

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such hurt, very little comfort, and we all know how it ended up for the family :/


	23. Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody likes torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 19  
> The prompt for today is “Sleep deprivation”.  
> It can be considered a follow up of chapter 15, "The Hallucination"  
> tw: violence, torture, death

▬ ▬

Nobody likes torture. 

Well, maybe just the masochists. 

And the torturers, but rarely; most of the time, they’re just indifferent to it (just another mean to an end, really), and sometimes they are even forced to do harm.

After 207 years of life, in which the opportunities to be tortured have been abundant, I can say that I am one of the many people who definitely do not like torture.

I’m used to pain by now, I couldn't be part of Andy's team if I wasn't; I was hanged, I died of frostbite, I got sick many times from the most varied diseases (nothing beats rabies, thanks Joe for the raccoon and Andy for the caves full of bats)... and let's not even begin to mention the trauma (shots, stabbings, accidents and so on).

In short, pain and death are my most faithful travel companions.   
Being subjected to torture, however, is a big nuisance if you are immortal, as the almost immediate healing from all wounds brings the ability to bear pain to very high levels, which adds to it a sort of mental wear that the "normal” humans don't feel.

And worst of all, as if all the cons listed above weren't enough, is that when the person who tortures you is an immortal like you, an immortal with thousands of years of experience, well ... that person knows well how to maximize the effect of torture, as she knows how your body reacts to injury.

When you take physical pain and fear of dying out of the equation, the methods of torturing someone become quite creative.

So far, I thought the worst method was the one she tried out during our third week together. While I was enjoying a "break" of a few hours (to be read as, I was dead), she had had a huge freezer delivered to my address, the kind in which, jokingly, sellers say you could hide a corpse; she had thrown me and held me in it for about 10 days, spent alternately dying of cold, suffocating, and heart attack.

As I was saying though, these past few days have been making me regret the freezer.

She shot me in the head 3 days ago, and when my brain repaired enough to bring me back to life, she’s started producing such an assortment of sounds, stimuli, flashes and noises, that it in no way allowed me to rest even for a minute.

She says that I am ungrateful for complaining so much about the noise, and that I disrespect her, as she has been unable to hear anything in her water grave for centuries, not even the sound of her own screams, yet she has never complained.

Maybe the level of sleep deprivation I have achieved has driven me crazy, because I could almost admit that she is right.

What I know for sure is that this torture is also about to end, she is already tired of it; sure as hell, she’s tired of me repeating that I’m in exile and don’t know where the rest of the family is. 

I heard her talking on the phone before, and if I'm not mistaken she bought a boat that is currently moored in a small town along the Atlantic coast.

It seems like we have reached the last part of her plan, then.

Well, at least when I'm drowning in the ocean I won't have to put up with all those noises anymore, and I’ll be able to take a nap.

▬ ▬

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the first time I use the first person pov, I hope it doesn’t suck.


	24. The word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booker and Quynh begin to get acquainted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 20  
> The prompt for today is “Betrayal”   
> Considering it’s The Old Guard, the story for this prompt will be quite forgone, but then again, it’s the elephant in the room, is it not?  
> Set directly after day 19 “Sleep deprivation” or (on here) chapter 23 "Torture".
> 
> tw: violence, torture, death, bad language.

►◄

“Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh, _fille de pute! Arrête ça! Merde!_ ” 

Booker spent several minutes spitting and vomiting brackish water and bile onto the boat floor, coughing and cursing.

He knew very well that hearing him scream and swear made Quynh lose his temper, but after 23 days of being thrown into the sea every few hours tied to a chair, to be fished out once dead and thrown back in as soon as alive (not counting all torture the previous weeks when they were still in Paris), he was convinced that he had earned the right to get angry.

“You are right, brother. We should stop now” she replied, strangely indifferent.

“Yeah, well, we can always start over tomorrow, _non_?” Booker joked, though the boutade fell quite flat.

“No, we won't. It's over, I won't kill you anymore" replied the woman with a huge sigh, as if she felt the weight of anger suddenly leave her.

She cut the ropes that bound him to the chair, helped him up, and escorted him to a cabin, leaving him stunned in the doorway as she walked into another one.

“I like spending time with you, _Sách Sébastien._ Please, don’t leave me” she said soflty, before closing the door behid her back.

‘‘‘‘‘

The thing is, things hadn’t been going anywhere. Quynh was a stubborn and angry woman, sure, but above all she was smart and sly as a fox; by then she had know perfectly well that Sébastien would have never revealed the location of safe houses that she did not know, especially those in which he had been pretty sure the rest of the family could hide.

He was all she had left, the only link to her life before the cage, although she had disappeared into the sea centuries before his rebirth; if she kept him, it wasn't for information. It was because Quynh felt lonely, alone in the way that only an immortal could feel, that loneliness mixed with a sense of loss and pain that mortal humans could not fully grasp.

Unlike their early days together, in which she had spent hours astride him, stabbing him everywhere in a whirlwind of blind and uncontrollable fury, barely giving him the time to get back to life before killing him again, the pauses between deaths had been expanding more and more, and the periods of "peace" had been filled with tales of the thousand adventures the family had faced while she had not been there.

So, that day, Quynh had realized she was tired. To give in to anger, to kill, to be alone... just tired. She had a few years left as a mortal, and if she never managed to see Andromache, Yusuf and Nicolò again, nor to meet the young _Con Sông_ , at least she would have had her little brother.

So be it.

‘‘‘‘‘

Booker had to admit that when she wasn't overcome by pain and madness, Quynh was a phenomenal companion. Often, as he told her about their missions, she was able to predict the most suitable moves to reach their goal; she had a very witty sense of humor, and knew some dirty jokes that made Booker double with laughter.

Since she had stopped killing him, a pleasant understanding had formed between them, made up of moments of absolute hilarity during the day and small, but meaningful confessions in the evening and night. Both were haunted by nightmares (less for Booker, now that she was with him), so almost every night they would find each other in each other's room to comfort each other.

Soon, much sooner than he wanted, they found themselves talking about what had separated him from his second family. He had tried to slip away, circling the subject, diverting her attention, but not that night. 

‘‘‘‘‘

“You must know that I regret what I did, I regretted it almost immediately” Booker began, trying to hide the shame that still burned inside him by avoiding her gaze.

“What did you do, Booker?” she asked him with feigned innocence.

“You know perfectly well, Quynh. My mistake" he replied in a tense, almost irritated voice. He would do anything to avoid uttering the word, that horrible noun Joe had spat on him when they arrived at the hiding place after escaping from Merrick, emphasizing the capitol letter “B” until it sounded like a stab.

In the blink of an eye, Quynh was on him without him noticing, pulled his head back by his hair, and pointed a stiletto at the base of his throat.

"Say. That. Word," she urged, the tip of the knife already wet with his blood. "Have the decency not to hide your blame behind the mask of mistakes. Everybody makes mistakes, _anh trai tôi,_ but only cowards do what you did”.

He didn't react to her violent snap; he just stared into her dark eyes, eventually seeing the reflection of his cowardice in them. _‘Enough now’_ , he told himself.

“Betrayal" he just uttered, the single word that represented the extreme synthesis of years of subterfuge, clandestine meetings, half revelations, up to the final act, the mission in Sudan, the capture of the team, and Andy’s wound that never seemed to stop bleeding.

►◄

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I kinda circled around the topic, because I know for sure that way better writers than me are going to explore Booker’s betrayal in amazing stories, and so you don’t need my meager 5 cents on it.


	25. First anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky has carefully planned their first anniversary.  
> Plans sometimes are just not meant to be followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are for Febuwhump day 21.  
> The prompt should be “Torture”, but if you’ve read my previous stories, you already know I’ve written two fics which deal with torture before (see days 19 and 20 - chapters 23 and 24); so, I’ve decided to skip the prompt and go for an alternative one:   
> “I can’t lose you too”
> 
> It’s also gonna be a “no powers” au.
> 
> tw: violence, blood

§§§

It was their first anniversary, and Nicky had been doing his best all day for the evening to be perfect: after waking Joe up with breakfast in bed, he had dragged him under the massage jets of their new shower, and proceeded to drive him crazy with his expert hands and his hot mouth.

After that, he had him dressed in a hurry, because he knew that Joe was in danger of arriving late to the presentation of his new book, and if that happened, Andy would have demanded his scalp.

While Joe was dealing with his adoring readers, proclaiming poems and dispensing smiles and autographs, only to be grabbed and dragged to the TV studio to record at least 3 interviews, Nicky made his favorite dishes (including the chakchouka his mother had given him her secret recipe for), set the table, and put the Prosecco in the fridge to let it chill.

He went out and walked to the florist few streets away from their home, then stopped at Booker’s bakery to collect the bread and sweets he had ordered.

“So, you’re finally making a honest man out of our Joe, aren’t you?” Booker teased him while packing his order.

“Si, or at least that’s the plan. I cannot know how he’s gonna answer” Nicky replied carefully.

“Like there’s the chance he won’t say yes” the baker retorted, rolling his eyes.

Nicky crossed his fingers and laughed, leaving the shop.

He went back home and took another shower, since the one he had taken in the morning had been for Joe’s sake more than his, then moved to the bedroom to dress up in nice but comfortable clothes. He didn’t want to wear something too formal, because the suits made him feel like he was still working for his father at the bank, and that Nicky didn’t exist anymore.

When he was done dressing up, he checked that the little box with the ring was in his pocket, then he went back to the living room and sat on the sofa to grade the few papers he had left; there was still half an hour left before Joe returned, he might as well finish the job, so he and Joe would have the whole weekend for them.

\---

When it became clear that Joe was late, Nicky just turned off the food to keep it from drying too much and put on some music to distract himself; he knew how things went when the television studios were involved, it wasn't the first time Joe had gone too long with interviews. 

However, when the delay came to an hour, Nicky began to worry and called his lover on the phone, but it rang for a long time without an answer.

Not being able to sit on the sofa anymore without knowing what had happened to Joe, he put on his coat, grabbed the keys and left the house to look for him.

//

Joe was running home, and he hadn't noticed that he had taken the dimly lit cross street where pickpockets, drug addicts and other desperate people could sometimes be found.

He was therefore stunned when a man came out of a dark corner, stood in front of him, and told him to give him all the money and jewels he had.

Joe knew that the best thing to do was to simply give the criminal his wallet and the watch on his wrist, but for some reason he couldn't move; surprise had frozen him on his spot, and by the time he saw that the other man had grown nervous and pulled out a knife, it was too late.

The thief lunged at him, stabbed him in the belly, and, when he was on the ground, took his wallet out of his pocket and ran away. As the seconds passed, Joe felt weaker and weaker, and the last thought he was aware of was Nicky at home waiting for him.

\--

As he was walking every street looking for Joe, Nicky was nearly run over by a man running away from an alley.

Attracted by a groan of pain, he entered the street and, despite the poor light, he immediately realized who the person on the ground was.

Without even realizing, he called emergency services and asked for an ambulance, begging the operator to hurry up.

When the ambulance arrived a few minutes later, doctors found him with blood-covered hands pressing on Joe's wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. It was impossible for them to remove him from his love, and they loaded him into the ambulance in a near-catatonic state.

//

_“Ti prego amore, ti prego...”_ (Please my love, please)

//

“ _Joe svegliati, svegliati ti scongiuro..._ ” (Wake up Joe, wak up I’m begging you)

//

“I can’t lose you too, _per favore tesoro..._ ” (please, honey)

// 

There was a strange smell in his nostrils, and when Joe tried to open his eyes, the light immediately blinded him. Since when was his house so annoyingly white?

As soon as, a few minutes later, he actually managed to open his eyes, he realized he was in the hospital.

He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry that he thought he had swallowed desert sand.

Joe decided to use the emergency button to call a nurse, but when he moved his hand, he found himself touching a mass of matted hair.

He raised his head slightly, and saw Nicky, sleeping in a chair, bent over his bed with his forehead against the sheets. He was so relieved by the scene that he forgot about his parched throat and called him gently.

“Ha...habibi” Joe stammered, his voice so weak he had to repeat himself a couple of times before the other heard him.

Nicky woke up suddenly, and as soon as he realized it was the real Joe calling him, and not just the one in his dreams, he burst into tears.

//

When the doctors finally left them alone, Joe moved slightly to the side of the bed, and motioned for Nicky to lie down beside him.

Nicky lay down on the edge, to avoid any kind of contact with Joe's wound, but placed a hand on his chest. Although the monitor signal was clear, he still needed to feel his heart beat against his skin.

“Hayati, I'm sorry" Joe sighed contritely.

“What for, my heart?” Nicky replied astonished.

“I missed our anniversary. I wnated to celebrate our first year together...”; he sounded so sad, Nicky almost started crying again.

“Don’t worry about it, Joe. I don’t care. Besides, we might have lost our first anniversary, but we will celebrate together for the rest of our lives. I want to marry you, Joe, please marry me” Nicky told him, looking into his eyes.

“Ya amar, of course I’ll marry you!” Joe answered, taking Nicky’s hand away from his chest and bringing it to his lips. 

When he kissed the fourth finger, Nicky took his hand and did the same. 

He couldn’t wait to put the ring on Joe’s finger, and show the world the depth of their love.

§§§§

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Comfort at last!  
> I really couldn’t let anything bad happen to Joe and Nicky!


	26. Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their way back to Europe from a mission in Egypt, the family hear of a gruesome evil spreading through the continent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump Day 22 is here, and the prompt for today is “Burned”  
> tw: violence, death

|==|

Adrianne, Quinn, Nicolas and Yusef had just finished a mission in the Pascialik of Egypt, and were sailing to Greece on a Venetian merchant ship when they first heard about the new religious fervor that was engulfing Europe.

According to the stories of the sailors and merchants on the ship, the belief had spread across the continent of the existence of women devoted to the devil, who practiced witchcraft and brought disease, famine and death to communities where they lived.

In particular, one of the merchants had just been to England and Scotland before arriving in Egypt, and every word of his spoke of the violence and pain that the British were inflicting on those poor women: they were tortured, drowned, hanged, and burned at the stake.

The two women knew what it was like to burn alive: it had happened to them about twenty years after the "birth" of the two fighters in the Holy Land.

//

_They were crossing Mongolia, and found themselves protecting a community of nomads, mostly women, elderly people, and children, from attacks by some marauders, while the men were away to fight with Temujin._

_They had already repelled several attacks and killed many of the raiders, and they were convinced that they would no longer attempt any more raids, so they had decided to retire to one of the tents to rest for a night._

_During the night however, the robbers returned, but instead of directly attacking the camp, they positioned themselves on a nearby hill, and struck the village with a shower of incendiary arrows._

_The fire quickly enveloped all the tents, catching the occupants in sleep and not allowing them to escape, as the smoke took their breath away and prevented them from reasoning and understanding how to escape from that hell._

_Andromache and Quynh died like that, alternatively suffocated by smoke and then burned, in a vain attempt to protect the children with their bodies._

_When, several hours later, the fire finally went out, the two warriors remained motionless hidden among the corpses, waiting for the attackers to approach. None of them escaped their revenge._

//

In the evening, when they were sheltered in their small cabin, the four immortals began to discuss the possibility of starting a new mission immediately, although they were still exhausted from the one they had just completed.

Yusef and Nicolas, who had had a very dangerous role in the last mission and had been captured and killed way too many times, were reluctant to throw themselves back into another fight after only a few days off, days spent working on a ship; they were planning on spending some time in Greece, or even going back to their true home in Malta.

When they expressed their doubts, the two female warriors were understanding, however they announced that they would have continued the journey to the island of Albion alone.

“We could save those poor women, _bạn bè của tôi_ ” said Quinn, hopeful, and Adrianne agreed with her.

They couldn't know how much they would have paid for that decision.

^||^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not totally satisfied with this story, but we’re nearing the end of the Febuwhump challenge and my inspiration is fading a bit.
> 
> Let’s hope for the best for this finishing week!


	27. First times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After becoming immortal, Nile expected she would have to experience bizarre first times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> The prompt for this 23rd day in the Febuwhump marathon is “Don’t look”
> 
> Usual tw: violence, blood

• ◘ •

During her first year living the life, or rather the second life, as an immortal warrior, Nile found herself experiencing some “first times” she had never thought she would be facing, since no mortal would ever face them.

As the first time she was reborn after the initial "true death". 

_For Andy it had been in a tribal battle, an arrow in the back; Joe and Nicky had each died at the hands of the other, in a swordfight. Booker... well it depends: if you want to consider all the times he had suffocated with the noose around his neck as part of a single death, then the first had been by frostbite. For Nile, the gunshot to the back of the head in Afghanistan, courtesy of Andy._

Another first, the first time she saw her body heal immediately after a severe injury.

_Andy had been trying to tame a wild horse, which had kicked her in the chest and broken her breastbone and a few ribs.The French diserter had nearly broken off his frozen left ear as he tried to pry his head out of the loop of rope around his neck._

_Nicky had felt the flesh of his shoulder close and push out the small blade that Joe had thrown at him, and the bones in Joe's head had realigned within seconds when Nicky had hit him with a rock._

_For Nile, once again courtesy of Andy, it had been on the plane from Afghanistan to France, when during the fight Andy had broken both her arm and her leg._

A most interesting one had been the first time her body battled and won against an illness or a poison that would have otherwise killed her.

_Andromache, Yusuf and Nicolò had faced the same faith: they had all drunk filthy, contaminated water, a very common occurrence in times when plumbing had not yet been invented, and poisoning wells and water sources to eliminate enemies had been a fairly common war tactic._

_Booker, instead, had caught salmonella and other nasty parasites from the crow he had eaten raw while still hanged in Russia._

_During a mission in the icy Chechnyan winter, Nile, who had been vaccinated against all the most dangerous illnesses, had felt several bouts of pneumonia be born in her chest, only to disappear few hours later leaving no lasting effects._

And now, lying in the back of a van, on the run from the outskirts of Bogota where, along with the rest of the team, she had just dismantled a criminal group dedicated to the trafficking of slaves from South America to the USA, she was facing her umpteenth first time.

_Both Andromache and Joe had lost a foot; her during yet another tribe fight, and him when a small landslide had broken off the rocky cliff against which he and Nicky had camped for the night and a large boulder had fallen on him._

_Nicky, on his part, had lost a hand in Baghdad; he had been in the market and, when one of the merchants had caught a young, starving child stealing some coins from his pockets, Nicolò had come forward and taken the blame._

_For Booker it had been, once again, the fucking Russian winter, which had frozen away all of his toes and some fingers._

“Nile, little sister, don’t look.” Nicky kept telling her.

“Nicky’s right, you know. It’ll hurt more if you stare at it. Just let your body work its magic, it’ll be over in no time” Joe agreed.

She was lying down, panting furiously and gritting her teeth not to cry out in pain; she had her head in his lap, so when she looked up at his face, she saw he smiling, and his smile somehow calmed her. 

Accepting their advice, she kept looking both at Joe and at Nicky, who in the meantime had stearted humming one of her favourite song.

By the time Andy stopped the van and announced that they were home, Nile’s left had, which had been blown away by a grenade, had finally grown back, and she was sleeping, exhausted but serene, between her big brothers.

• ◘ •

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that much hurt this time :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	28. Forgetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten years ago, Sébastien Le Livre was a happy man who had a loving wife and three great kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 24  
> “Memory loss” is the prompt for today, and man, it’s gonna be difficult. Bear with me.
> 
> Once again, a “no powers” au, and once again, it’s a twist on the prompt.
> 
> Tw: death, drinking, overdosing, suicide attempt

◙ ○ ◙

He couldn't go on like that. He couldn't take it anymore.

For 10 years he had been suffering like a dog, a deep, indelible and constant pain that clouded his mind and deprived him of any desire to keep going.

It was time to stop. 

)(

_It all happened ten years before, on the cold night between 4 and 5 January. Sébastien Le Livre, or "Booker" for all his fellow soldiers, had been on duty in Afghanistan, as an expert in explosives in the French Special Forces._

_He had phoned his wife Adèle, who had stayed in Marseille with their three twins Luc, Antoine and Jean Pierre, to apologize for not having been able to return for Christmas. His family had been disappointed, but had also been pleased to know that the command had assured him that he would have returned to France for good at the end of January._

_Later in the day, while he had been training some Afghan soldiers, his superior had called him to the officers' quarters, and had given him news that would devastate his life: his house had burned down overnight due to a short circuit, and his entire family had perished in the fire._

_Shocked, destroyed, completely annihilated, he had been loaded onto the first plane back to France, had attended his family’s funeral, and had completely let himself go, with only his lifelong friends Joe and Andy trying to keep the pieces together._

_Andy, through more or less legitimate acquaintances, had helped him leave the army and convinced him to join them in London, while Joe had welcomed him into his home, taking a six-month sabbatical from university to be there for him._

_However, despite all the help his friends had given him, he had fallen into a spiral of depression and alcohol addiction that was still affecting his life._

)(

He wrote a few words of apology on a slip of paper he found in the kitchen, then took a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of tranquilizers, and lay down on the sofa.

Sip after sip he felt his awareness vanish until he fainted, his last thought for the family that he would have seen again shortly thereafter. He didn't notice the insistent knock on the front door and how it swung open, nor how Andy and Joe swore when they saw him. If he had had the possibility, he would surely have told them not to call the ambulance, nor to waste their tears on him.

)(

_Over the years, there had been several occasions when Sébastien had been on the brink of the abyss. Sometimes, he had saved himself; many times, it had been Andy and Joe (and later on Quynh, Nicky, even the newest addition to their "family", Nile) who had saved him in the nick of time before he could fall into it._

_Over time, he had somehow been able to learn to manage the urge to drink, but despite many attempts, he had not benefited from the therapy, and had continued to alternate moments of relative peace with periods of extreme despair._

_His friends had tried in every way to help him, but had to be content with having him still alive day after day. Well, even the smallest victory had counted._

)(

When he woke up, it was to a beeping sound and muffled voices.

His mouth felt thick and disgusting, and his body was heavy and almost unresponsive.

As he opened his eyes, he saw Joe and Andy at the foot of his bed, watching him carefully.

They smiled in relief when they realized he was awake, but despite that Booker could see that they had puffy eyes and tired faces, and they looked heartbroken. Once again, the guilt hit him like a stone.

The following day, the doctor examined him and declared him out of danger, but also informed him that he would be transferred to the psychiatric ward for a month, as usual after a suicide attempt. Not having the strength to argue, and knowing that he could no longer go on like that, he agreed without protest.

...

When, during Joe and Andy’s last visit before he was admitted into psychiatric care, they asked him why he had attempted suicide, especially given that in recent times the situation had seemed to be slowly improving, he provided an honest and shocking answer.

“I know now I cannot go on like this, it’s not fair to any of you, and I’m sorry for what I put you through.

I just... I thought it wasn’t fair for me to keep on living, to be better, when they’re all dead. I should have been with them, maybe I could have saved them.

And yesterday... I woke up, and I was feeling fine, but then I looked at the calendar and saw... I had forgot! It was the ten years anniversary and I had forgot it! I panicked, and I couldn’t see their faces in my mind anymore, I couldn’t remember what their laughters sounded like... I felt I didn’t deserve to live, so I gave up.”

Since Joe was crying, it was Andy, whose stern face had changed into a commiserating smile, who replied.

“Sébastien, I know you don’t want to hear this, as you’ve never wanted to hear it every time we’ve told you before, but your family loved you. You were a good husband and a great dad, and we all know for sure they wouldn’t want you living like this.”

“It’s not the same, God I know it’s not nearly vagueluy the same, but we are your family, too. We want to be” Joe added, “and whatever you’ll need todo to be better, we will help you. We love you, we’re not ready to let you go”.

They both held his hands as the nurse wheeled him into the new ward, and when he turned to tell them goodbye, he added “See you in a month”.

Andy and Joe smiled in hope.

They would have their friend back.

◙ ○ ◙


	29. Getting better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After discovering about her mortality and ending up in a hospital, Quynh works on her plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are for Febuwhump day 26.
> 
> The prompt today is "Recovery".
> 
> This ficlet will be a sequel to day 9/chapter 13, “Buried alive”, and it’s also linked to day 13/chapter 17, “Hidden Injury”.

^-^-^

Fooling the doctors and nurses in the hospital was child's play. She was a millennial warrior, cunning and relentless, and they were basically good people, trying to help their patients as best as they could despite difficult shifts and unsuitable salaries.

Immediately after her awakening, she had pretended not to remember anything about her past, and since she had sustained a head injury during the collapse of the building, the doctors hadn't had a hard time believing her. 

This had allowed her to earn a few days to build up a credible story, as she knew very well that sooner or later someone would ask her who she was, where she came from, and what she was doing in that abandoned building.

Every day she followed her therapy and tried in every way to facilitate her recovery, which, however, having become mortal shortly after escaping from the cage, was infuriatingly slow. 

Being mortal sucked a mean by d*ck, if you asked her.

In the meantime, she was learning everything she needed to know about this modern world she was now part of.

Speaking with doctor, nurses,and even other patients and their relatives helped her improve both her English and, rather surprisingly, her Vietnamese too, thanks to the funny Nhung who worked in the canteen.

She listened religiously to the news and read every newspaper, magazine, pamphlet and book she could find, to catch up with the changes in society, and recreate a past that could be credible in the eyes of people who, from time to time, asked her if she had remembered some details of her life.

Even the psychological therapy was working quite well. 

Quynh had been fascinated to know that modern medicine was now able to analyze the "disturbances of the soul" as it did those of the body, and in some cases even resolve them. 

She took advantage of it, citing her terror of enclosed spaces to the fact that she had been kidnapped and transported from her homeland in England in a container; this was the first of a long series of "memories" that Quynh made over the months and, when he came to the end of his recovery journey, his therapists and all the hospital staff were so impressed by his tragic story that they raised some money "so that you can have a serene and peaceful future."

She hugged all of them, took the money and left the hospital.

Thanks to her dreams, she knew where she had to go to find at least one of the members of her old family.

The one whom she was looking for since the beginning, the one who would lead her to the rest of them.

The one who would pay for his betrayal.

_No one could hurt her family but her._

^-^-^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s short and it’s not that angsty (the last sentences aside).
> 
> Sorry, the prompt and I didn’t get along.


	30. His past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Nicolò Di Genova ended up in the Holy Land as an invader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 27  
> The prompt for today is “I wish I had never given you a chance”  
> Weird prompt, but ok, I’ll try :’)  
> tw: violence, bad language, homophobia, Catholicism done wrong

\\\ //

Nicolò was kneeling on the cold slabs of polished stone, his buttocks resting on his heels, his back bent forward, his head lowered.

They were in the council chamber, and the monks sat in their seats all around him; in front of him, the abbot and the prior, seated in the highest stalls, looked at him with anger, disappointment, and ill-concealed disgust.

Nicolò felt the cold and hardness of the floor enter his skin, pale and by now as cold as stone, and expand along his entire body; it was December, and he was no longer even wearing his habit. The brothers had stripped him of everything but a worn linen shirt, which could do nothing to protect him from the freezing temperatures.

Moreover, the shirt itself was humid and bloodied; he knew that, after each flogging session he was subjected to daily as punishment for his guilt, he should have waited for the blood to dry before dressing, but that December was particularly cold in the mountains around Genoa, and the poor protection of his shirt was still better than nothing.

He was tired, dirty, afraid, and hungry. It had been two weeks now since the monks had seen him commit that terrible act and imprisoned him in the monastery's repentance cells, and kept him without food so that fasting of the body could purge the devil in his soul.

The watered-down beer he received twice a day barely kept him conscious, and the short walk from the cell to the room where he was kneeling had been enough to trip him and nearly make him pass out several times, but every time his guardians had kicked him and got him up and going again.

He was keeping his head down in shame and repentance, but as soon as the abbot started speaking, he raised it.

“Dear brothers, we are gathered here to decide the future of the sinner in front of us. We were already aware of the fact that our brother Nicolò's soul was under the siege of the devil, that he had come to us corrupt and impure from birth, but we had reason to believe that the years of prayer and discipline had saved him from eternal damnation. We were wrong, and he committed a mortal sin, devoting himself to the temptation of Satan and bringing Evil to our holy monastery.” 

The abbot spoke in a harsh, implacable voice, and every word that came out of his box struck poor Nicolò like a whip.

“I am afraid, brothers, that I will have to take part of the blame for the fall of brother Nicolo” the prior started then. “I should have seen how much darkness had taken possession of his soul, and I should have foreseen that the freedom that the young man had asked of me would have lead him to perdition. I wish I had never given you the chance to leave our confines and, by that, the light of God” he added, looking straight at the man in front of him.

“However I did it, and now the filth of pleasure covers your mortal body and your immortal spirit. Only pain and repentance can save you“ the prior concluded, and he saw the abbot and all his brothers nod in agreement.

...

_It had all started a few months earlier, at the end of the summer. The apple and fig trees in the monastery's orchard had begun to bear fruit, and the monks had been given permission to travel to neighboring villages to sell them._

_Usually, it had been a task intended for the already elderly confreres, who had been in the convent for a long time and would have been more firm and able to resist the temptations present in the secular world._

_Despite this, Nicolò, who had been abandoned to the monastery after his birth and had always been confined within its walls until he was 30, had asked to be able to see a city at least once._

_The prior had tried to dissuade him, but when one of the monks in charge of bringing the fruit to the market had fallen ill, he could not refuse._

_Nicolò was a calm and confident young man, but he was also curious, and the prior had confused the curiosity with which he looked at the horses, the weapons, and the rich clothes of the noble pilgrims who had stopped at the monastery over the years, with the desire to lay with the men who wore those clothes or those weapons._

_Nevertheless, Nicolò had been granted the permission to go and sell the produce to the nearby towns, and it had been in one of those towns that he had met Matteo._

_Over the weeks, Matteo had come to their cart to buy fruit many times, and every time he and Nicolò had spent more and more time together; the brothers who had been there with Nicolò had shaken their heads and admonished him, but Nicolò had been so enthralled by all the chatters and luaghters he was having with Matteo, that he hadn’t paid attention to them._

_Until the moment, two weeks prior, in which Matteo had asked him to walk with him through the town gardens and, much to Nicolò’s suprise, had kissed him on the lips behind a tree._

_Nicolò had barely had the time to register what was happening and realise it was very nice, that the prior and a few other brothers had appeared behinf them and forcefully separated them._

_After that Matteo, who was the mayor’s son and an influent tradesman himself, had accused Nicolò of kissing him and paid the monastery a big sum to “purge his sins”, while Nicolò, a poor orphan whom nobody had wanted, had been found guilty of seducing him, and detained._

_..._

“It's not just his soul in danger," protested the vice-prior from his stall, "but the good name of our monastery. We can't let that _sodomite_ ruin us all! His punishment must be exemplary!"

The monks shared his statement. 

After a few minutes of reflection and consultation with the prior, the abbot announced that he had come to a decision.

“Our Holy Father Urban II is organizing a holy mission to free Jerusalem from the infidels who occupy it with impunity, and has promised pardon and redemption from all sins for anyone who joins his blessed army” the abbot stated; “I am convinced that participating in this enterprise in the name of the Lord could get our brother Nicolò readmitted into His light, and bring His Grace back to our monastery.”

All the monks expressed their favor with this idea, and so the abbot continued: “Brother Nicolò, the choice is yours: either you will join the army of the Holy Father and earn the forgiveness of Almighty God by fighting for him, or you will be excommunicated and expelled from the monastery."

Nicolò was crying in shame, cold, and hunger.

He would have done anything to be forgiven, because the Church was the only thing he had had in all his life, and he couldn’t possibly imagine his life without being part of it.

Although he was not a soldier and hated the idea of inflicting pain and death in battle, he agreed to leave.

...

Nicolò woke with a start, drenched in sweat and with tears streaming down his face. He felt the warm, solid body of his lover move behind him, and after a few seconds he heard him speak. 

"Is there something wrong, habibi? Did you dream of the two warriors?" Yusuf asked.

“It's nothing, amore mio," Nicolò replied in his broken Arabic. “Just a bad memory“ he added.

He knew that Yusuf's heart would break every time Nicolò referred to his sad past, so he decided not to add any more details.

"I'm sorry, hayati! Let me share the burden of these memories" replied Yusuf, and he hugged Nicolò so close his back was pressed to his chest, then promptly fell asleep again.

Nicolò relaxed against him, and went back to sleep without further nightmares.

\\\\\ ///

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, a proper story today, with plot and feelings and proper whump! Yay me!
> 
> I hope you’ll like it!


	31. Fallin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission was not going how it was supposed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Febuwhump day 28  
> It’s the last day!  
> Last day, and the prompt sounds very very sad.  
> “You have to let me go”
> 
> tw: crack, idiots in love

♥ ♣ ♠ ♦

When Nile had proposed the mission, no one had expected it would have gone like this.

Andy and Quynh were long gone, and nobody knew where they had disappeared. Nile was out of the game, and Booker was hanging on to the last threads of hope; before they could even warn him, he too was defeated.

And soon, the same cruel fate would befall Joe too.

“ _Resisti, habibi, per favore!_ ” Nicolò screamed. 

The effort he was making to prevent Joe from falling into the abyss was enormous, as he too was in a precarious position and trying to keep his balance only with leg strength while at the same time his entire upper body was holding up the weight of his lover was wearing him out.

“ _E' troppo tardi Nicky, amore mio_ ", Joe said resignedly.

He was tired, he felt his hand and wrist burn under Nicky's grip, and he knew it would be better for everyone if Nicky let him go.

“You have to let me go, hayati”, he added.

“No, never! That's not what we decided! Either we go together, or we never will!" Nicky said desperately. 

"I can't take it anymore, Nicolò ... It's my time." 

Joe looked at him one last time, and his gaze tried to convey all the love he had felt for him for 931 years. 

After that emotional moment, Joe closed his eyes, and slipped his hand from his love's grasp.

"Nooooooooooo!" 

As Joe fell, Nicky lay there, his empty hand whirling uselessly in the air in a desperate attempt to grab the other man's.

...

Nile and Booker witnessed the scene with very mixed feelings.

On one side there was Nile, who was having such a hard time holding back laughter that she feared her appendix would burst or something equally traumatic would happen.

She had been the promoter of this particular mission, but even in her wildest fantasies such a conclusion could not have been imagined.

For his part, Booker had witnessed the "tragic" conclusion from their plan with a mixture of resignation and ill-concealed affection; for centuries he had witnessed the great romantic gestures and dramatic declarations of love of his two friends, he had also been forced to marry them over and over again, but each time the level of theatricality of the two surprised him.

“They know that there's no real lava on the floor, and that Joe can't just die falling from a ten-foot-tall jungle gym, right?" Booker asked her skeptically.

At that point Nile laughed out loud, just as Joe let go of Nicky's hand and Nicky screamed his pain to the sky.

As soon as she was able to catch her breath and start talking again, Nile called her two friends to her and made an announcement.

"The winner of the first tournament of 'The floor is lava' for immortals is... drumroll... Nicolò di Genova!"

She handed Nicky the daisy crown she had created before starting the game, but he refused it. 

"I can't accept victory at the expense of the love of my life," he said sternly, but with a smile on his face. "When I lost Joe in the abyss, I also died with him." 

"Oh _ya amar_..." Joe murmured, before drawing him to his arms and kissing him passionately.

Facing with that scene, Nile rolled her eyes and Booker hid his face in his hands, muttering something in French that sounded like "Every damn time..." and a row of swear words.

“Guys, does anyone know where Andy and Quynh have gone?" Nile asked as soon as the two lovebirds stopped cooing.

...

They found them forty minutes later sitting at a bar table, unperturbed, the remains of a copious alcoholic breakfast still in front of them.

♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it.  
> This is the end of Febuwhump 2021, my first writing marathon.  
> I hope you liked my stories!  
> You can also find me on Tumblr as lazynbored, drop a kudo or a message if you want :)


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An invisible and invincible enemy makes Yusun and Nicolò part way from Quynh and Andromache, and brings them back where Nicolò's life changed forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> duolingo prompt list  
> 12\. I know this place (Εγώ ξέρω το μέρος αυτό)
> 
> This chapter, while not being part of the Febuwhump vhallenge, is still quite angsty, and it's an almost direct sequel of chapter 30 "His Past".  
> tw: illness, angst

* * *

When, about 50 years after the siege of Jerusalem, Yusuf and Nicolò had met Andromache and Quynh, the women who had populated their dreams since their first death, they had been so fascinated by the stories of their millennia together and impressed by their abilities as warriors, that they had remained for nearly a century constantly with them, following them on every mission and absorbing their teachings like sponges.

However, a hundred years together, while cementing their friendship, had also created a kind of desire for solitude and privacy, especially in the two women, who had been alone for a long time after their friend Lykon's untimely death.

Thus, in the year 1347, after learning of a deadly epidemic that was rapidly spreading throughout Europe and claiming an impressive number of victims, they decided to part and help as many people as they could: Quynh and Andromache headed for Turkey, then Greece and the Balkans, while Yusuf and Nicolò left for France and then Italy.

Being immortal did not make them immune to disease, and in fact Nicolò first and then Yusuf fell ill; however, they managed to survive the illness, and after a few days they were back on the front line, moving every few weeks from town to town and doing all kinds of jobs. Sometimes they found themselves assisting the sick as best they could, with the Genoese often having to "dust off" the liturgical teachings he had acquired in his youth and impart extreme unction to dying people. Much more often, however, they were called to gather and bury the dead; this kind of task left them empty and dull, still every morning they got up and started over. 

Surrender wasn't an option for them, not while facing so much suffering.

They had been moving from the south of France to the east for days, and with each step Nicolò felt mixed feelings: on the one hand there was the irrational fear that someone might recognize him, even though 150 years had passed since his departure; on the other hand, he felt a very strong desire to help his homeland and his people.

They were going around a hill, walking on a path (they had chosen to avoid the main roads because they wanted to avoid being noticed by many people and maybe accused of spreading the disease, as had already happened a couple of times in France), when Nicolò he stopped abruptly.

Yusuf, busy as he was in remembering with a laugh a funny anecdote of their common past, did not notice it immediately and continued on his way for a few meters, stopping only because he no longer felt his lover’s warmth next to him.

He turned to his companion, and his serious expression startled him. "Habibi, what's going on? You look worried."

“I know this place. I grew up here, the monastery is somewhere behind this small hill” Nicolò answered, and Yusuf felt his anger rise.

Many years had passed since Nicolò, one evening after a dramatic quarrel in which Yusuf had accused him of having a black heart that only loved violence and death, had told him his story and how he had found himself fighting outside the walls of Jerusalem, but Yusuf's blood still boiled at the thought of what the monks had done to the love of his life.

"We can go back, habibi, look for a different road. I don't want you to have to relive your past. Come on, there's a crossroads just behind us."

Yusuf took his hand with the intention of bringing him back, but Nicolò put his free hand over his and stopped him. "I want to go there, hayati. There were many confreres when I lived there, and they gave assistance to pilgrims and the sick. They might need us!"

Yusuf wanted to protest, but he saw in his companion's eyes the determination and the ability to move beyond the pain and turn the other cheek, as the prophet Jesus commanded. He knew that Nicolò had a complicated relationship with religion, but he loved that the best teachings of it were deeply anchored in his soul.

"Okay, but if I feel like you can't stand it, we'll leave. There are so many people who need us, we won't betray our mission," Yusuf said firmly. Nicolò consented with his usual, placid smile, and together they resumed their journey towards the monastery.

When they reached the gate, however, it was immediately clear that their help would not be necessary: the plague had arrived long before them.


	33. The most exhausting part of the week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every Sunday evening Joe calls his family in Tunis, and it's by far the most tiring hour in his whole week. Luckily enough, Nicky is there to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INTIMANCY PROMPTS !  
> 9\. watching movies / tv shows  
> This is gonna be my umpteenth “they were roommates” au, sue me.

***

Whenever Yusuf ("Mom, call him Joe! He's a London artist now" his sister Amina teased him) called his family in Tunis, it turned into the funniest and yet most exhausting hour of his entire week.

Despite the early risings to go to the cafeteria for his shift before class, the hours in the lab to work on his paintings, and the all-nighters to get ready for his exams, Joe was sure that the phone calls home were the part of the week that exhausted him the most. 

He loved his family, that was implied, but dealing with an overprotective mother, a bunch of over-excited brothers and sisters, and a bevy of noisy grandchildren on Sunday nights drained all his remaining energy.

He left himself fall on the washed up couch; like most of the furniture, it was second or even third hand. The shared flat itself was kind of dingy, in a not so safe part of the outskirts, but it was all he could afford with his part-time job salary and all the help his family could give him.

Thank God, Nicky was there with him.

-

When, at the beginning of his London adventure, he had met his roommate, Yusuf hadn’t been too impressed with him.

Nicolò di Genova, or Nicky, had seemed cold, distant, so reserved that Joe couldn’t believe he was actually from Italy. He had always thought that Italians and Tunisians were quite similar, easy going and warm-hearted, but Nicky had made him doubt his beliefs. When, months later, he had talked about it with Nicky himself, Nicky had laughed softly and told him it was a common misconception, and that there were many differences in behaviour depending on which part of Italy people came from.

-

Truth was, Nicky was not cold or distant at all. He was just a bit on the shy and pensive side, but when the mood struck he had a hilariously ironic sense of humour, and his dry jokes always got big laughs from his group of friends; even Booker, who until their meeting had been the king of the one-liners within the gang, often yelded the scepter to Nicky, only to engage in a fight at the last boutade with him, in order to get it back.

In the following months, moreover, Nicky proved to be what others jokingly called "a typical Italian grandma": he showed his affection with small daily gestures, such as cooking, spreading a blanket over Joe when he fell asleep on the sofa, or waking him in the morning with a strong coffee and an affectionate greeting.

Day after day, almost without even realizing it, Joe got used to rely on Nicky when the days were rough and he felt drained and alone.

The life of working students like them was tiring, especially for someone like Joe who was used to having the support of a large family (Nicky, on the other hand, was the only child of wealthy but not very affectionate parents, more interested in the results he achieved than in him as a person, much to Joe's chagrin), and Joe was grateful for Nicky's nurturing nature.

And the moment he was most grateful to his friend was on Sunday nights after the phone call home, just like the one he had just finished.

“Tough call?” Nicky asked from their tiny kitchen with a humorous tone. 

“Arrrrgh!” Joe groaned. “I swear there were at least 30 people in the house, and they were all trying to speak at once! I must have gotten, like, the 10% of the things they said!”

Nicky laughed at that, and Joe was elated in hearing that sound. He was growning more and more attached to the Italian, and every time he made him laugh, made him happy, Joe felt a big bubble of happiness grow in his chest.

He was falling in love with Nicky, and despite knowing that it could potentially be a problem and drive them away, his optimistic nature couldn’t help but be glad for loving such a great man. 

He knew that Nicky was gay like him, one of the many things that had driven him away from his parents, but in the months they had lived together he had never seen Nicky with a guy, and he had concluded that either Nicky was extremely good at hiding his flings, or he wasn’t interested in jumping from bed to bed; Joe secretly hoped it was the second option, because he was made from the same mold himself (despite indulging in casual sex more than Nicky).

“Well, I have something here that will cheer you up!” Nicky said, placing two plates, glasses and cutlery on the coffee table before the sofa, then going back to the kitchen to retrieve a tray from the hoven.

Joe’s eyes widened. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve made...” 

“What, cannelloni ricotta e spinaci with homemade tomato sauce? Is it perhaps your fvourite dish?” Nicky said with a grin, before scooping a big serve to put on Joe’s plate and turning the tv on.

They ate on the couch, sharing food and laughters, both of them paiyng a great deal of attention to the cooking show on the telly, always looking for new recipes they could try (they didn’t want to be the living stereotypes of students living off ramen and sandwiches).

After a couple of comments had fallen on deaf ears, Joe turned to Nicky and found him asleep on the couch, feet propped on the little table and arms crossed on his solid chest.

Nicky’s head was tipping back, and Joe could admire the slender throat and the pale skin that covered it; in that moment, he felt the almost irrepressible urge to close his lips on that pink skin and brand it with kisses.

He gasped as the desire built up in his gut and warmed him until he was almost sweating with it, and that noise woke Nicky up.

Joe looked at those seaglass eyes focus on him, but before Nicky could speak and burst the bubble they were in, Joe leaned in and kissed him.

He felt Nicky stiffen a bit, but before he could go back to his place and apologise for the kiss, hoping he hadn’t ruined their friendship forever, Nicky placed his hand on his face and deepened the kiss.

Joe felt the tip of Nicky’s tongue tickle his lips and he parted them, sighing in satisfaction as soon as he felt Nick’s flavour invade his mouth.

They kissed for long, sweet minutes, separating only to draw small breaths before dipping into each other again. 

After a while they stopped, because they both felt they had to talk about what was happening.

“Soooo...” Joe started, but for the first time in his life he was lost for words.

“Yeah...” answered Nicky, his lips curlying in his usual shy smile.

“I feel I should go first” stated Joe, just as Nicky started saying “Joe, I...”

They both stopped, a bit embarrassed, but Nicky recovered first and started talking again.

“Joe, I am sorry”

At that Joe’s heart started to break down: how could Nicky turni him down after spending so much time kissing him like his life depended on it?

As he saw Joe’s panicked face, Nicky resumed “Oh shit, I’m doing this all wrong. I’m not sorry I kissed you, oh Joe, I’m so happy I kissed you, it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. I... I want to apologise because I’ve been falling in love with you for so long, and I’ve never said anything because I feared I would have lost our friendship, and nothing means more to me than it!”

“Nothing? Really?” Joe asked, still a bit out of it.

“Well, not anymore” replied Nicky, “Not after you kissed me. Now I’m hopeful, hopeful this could work, hopeful our friendship could be so much more... but only if you want it to be”. 

Nicky was looking at him, hope displayed on his face, but Joe could read the tension on his shoulders and his jaw serrating.

Joe smiled openly at him then. 

“I want this, Nicky. I want this and so much more with you. I love you so much!”

Nicky laughed at the easyness with which Joe talked about his feelings, and he was so elated that these feelings and this openness were directed to him.

He sighed and closed his eyes when he felt Joe’s elegant hands caress his cheeks, and when Joe approached him to kiss him again, he sighed and closed the distance between them.

***


	34. Feelings growing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving the profaned city of Jerusalem, two immortal enemies found themselves united in a journey that changed their lives forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One-liners prompt #12 
> 
> “….Why are you petting me?”  
> tw: it’s TOG guys, of course we’re talking about violence and death. Don’t worry, it doesn’t stick.
> 
> It’s a direct sequel of my previous ficlet “Safe” (chapter 4 in this collection), if you want to read it.

\---

After escaping the burning, death-filled hell that Jerusalem had become after the invaders had swarmed in, and miraculously finding each other a couple of days later in the desert, Yusuf and Nicolò decided it would be better for them to just stick together and look for answers about their _condition_ together, maybe in some of the libraries in big cities like al-Qāhira, Constantinopolis, or Baghdad.

It was obvious that neither of them fully trusted the other, but considering that it was now clear that neither of them could ever kill the other, traveling together and facing the pitfalls that crossing a war-torn land entailed was the only sensible choice that remained to them.

Fortunately, Yusuf's studies and his previous career as a merchant in the Mediterranean had guaranteed him a basic but fundamental knowledge of zeneize, greek, and sabir, so he and Nicolò were able to communicate almost immediately.

Day after day, they went from barely tolerating each other, exchanging nothing but few, perfunctory words about food, directions and sleeping arrangements, to casually reveal bits of past experiences, often related to their abilities, but sometimes of more personal nature.

As the weeks passed, they could say their rocky start was changing into something better for both of them, as they were opening up enough to let the other man see each other’s true colors.

Nicolò, whose belief in the mission of liberating the Holy Land from the savage Infidels had already been shaky even before leaving the army, quickly abandoned every notion he had had about the savagery and inferiority of Yusuf’s people, and started applying himself to learning his companion’s musical language and flowery writing.

Yusuf, on his part, had decided to let go of the residual hate he had had for the Frank invader, and since then he had been able to see that Nicolò held no trace of the fury, hate and cruelty of his former mates soldiers. Instead, he discovered that Nicolò, despite not having a proper education outside the Bible and religion, was very intelligent, very dedicated, and could learn any kind of manual work within days.

They were both also friendly, despite in very different ways, and always helpful towards the people they met while crossing the desert. They often joined the caravans of merchants and pilgrims, helping them to assemble and dismantle the camps, and also offering protection from the raiders of the desert, in exchange for a few coins or even just a few hot meals.

This was how they had earned their more or less serious injuries since their last death, which had happened while they were still at war with each other for Yusuf, and a couple of days after leaving Jerusalem for Nicolò.

They were very careful to ensure that, during the attacks of thieves and raiders, the socntri took place out of the eyes of the people traveling with them, so as not to betray their own secret; this way, however, they often found themselves isolated to fight with a numerical disadvantage, and so serious injuries and deaths from which to recover had become more frequent.

The days when this happened, and one or both of them fell at the hands of their enemies, were days when the two actually felt more united, as if each of their deaths and rebirths were further proof of the fact that destiny wanted them united.

With each night they stood guard together, and each night they camped apart from the group in order to recover from death, the two immortals found themselves talking more freely about their lives, their emotions, their hopes for the future. Without realizing it, they had reached a level of confidence and intimacy that went far beyond being friends, and that would have absolutely seemed impossible to them just a few months ago.

That night, in particular, he was seeing them particularly close. They were escorting a group of pilgrims, mostly women and elderly people, to Makka al-mukarrama, and sadly the perceived weakness of the group had prompted many criminals to attack them during the journey.

They had spent most of the day fighting the particularly insistent assaults of a group of horsemen, and only after sunset and after at least a couple of deaths each they had managed to defeat them completely.

They had just finished dinner, and they were together around the fire; after finishing mending the cuts in their clothes, Nicolò lay down next to Yusuf, and quickly yielded to the call of sleep. He had been, of the two warriors, the one who had suffered the most serious injuries, and Yusuf had been very frightened for him during the fight.

Now that Nicolò was lying there beside him, he couldn't help but reach out to his finally relaxed face, and caress the sun-red skin of his cheeks, from under his closed eyes to the beginning of his stubble.

He didn’t know how much time he had spent like that, eyes closed, almost unthinking, mesmerised by the softness of his companion’s skin despite the sand and the sun and by the soft hiss of his breathing, and he hadn’t realised that Nicolò had woken up.

“Why are you petting me?” Nicolò asked, startling him.

Yusuf retracted his hand and was about to mutter some sort of apology, but the sadness in Nicolò’s eyes as he felt Yusuf fingers leave his face made him the words die in his mouth, and he put his hand back.

Nicolò looked at him peacefully as the caress restarted, and the Genoese moved slightly to put his own hand on Yusuf’s thigh. 

Yusuf finally remembered he still owed Nicolò an answer, and while he had thought about lying for a second, the opennes in Nicolò’s eyes made him spill the truth.

“Because I can’t not to, not after seeing you hurting and dying so much this afternoon” he simply answered. 

Nicolò smiled at him.

“I’m fine”

“I can see that, but seeing and knowing are very different things. My eyes can see you here, but my hearts always needs more proof” Yusuf stated softly.

“You are always so poetic, I envy you” Nicolò admitted.

“You don’t have to, since you’re the one eliciting the poetry within my soul” Yusuf confessed. At that, Nicolò sat up and stared at his companion’s face.

It was too late now to deny the words that had already been spoken and, more important, the obvious feelings behind them.

With a final leap of faith, he too placed his fingers on Yusuf’s cheeck, mirroring his caresses. 

With a shy smile, he closed the space between their bodies, and pressed his lips to Yusuf’s.

\---


End file.
